


got a boy in the war

by monkkeyslut



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, F/M, i guess it's like a sons of anarchy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkkeyslut/pseuds/monkkeyslut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All his life, Black Star has been surrounded by the Club and everything that comes with it. Now, with his father getting in deeper and threatening everything around him, Black Star isn't sure what to do or who to trust. The only thing he's sure of is Tsubaki, but being with her means going against his family, which is worthy of being killed. However, staying by their side means going against the police and a rival gang, putting himself and everyone around him in danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I want to thank Dicey for being a stellar friend and helping me every step of the way, even though she hasn't ever seen or read Soul Eater. You've been a great help doll, and I owe you big time (which I'm more than sure you will come to collect one of these days, dammit). I had originally wanted this to be more Gang!AU than Sons of Anarchy!AU, but hey, things don't always work out. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

 

“Uh...yeah, I am smoking, but does this look like school property? Maka, take your judginess and fuck yourself with it.”

Black Star takes another hit and eyes his blonde friend in front of him, enjoying the way her face reddens and she opens her mouth to say something else. Only, there isn’t anything else to say. He’s at the Pizza Pizza outside their school and this is not really illegal. Well. It _is_ , but there aren’t any cops to smack the joint out of his hands right now, so.

“You know, Black Star, one day you’re gonna regret all these _stupid_ decisions you make,” Maka snaps, spinning on her heel and marching back toward school. The bell is ringing, signaling the end of lunch, and he hopes the door is locked by the time she gets back there. He hopes she’s late.

“Take notes for me, Maka!” He shouts, laughing when she turns back and gives him her most venomous glare, while simultaneously running into Soul as he makes his way out of the school. Black Star can’t hear what goes on between them, but it looks pretty rough. Maka ignores Soul on _good_ days, so he can’t imagine what she’s saying to him right now.

Whatever it is, it ends quickly enough when the bell rings one more time, signaling that Maka is going to be late to English. She darts up the steps, struggles with the locked door for a few seconds before someone comes and opens it, and gives the two of them one last menacing look before darting into the building.

Soul makes his way over slowly, running a hand through his thick, floppy hair. “Yo, pass that over here.”

Black Star does so, leaning more comfortably against the wall. “What did tiny tits say to you?”

“Told me to convince you to come to class,” Soul shrugs, taking a deep, long hit. Black Star knows the guy has a spare right now, but he can hardly function when he’s a _little_ high, so taking that big a hit probably isn’t that great an idea. Not that Black Star cares, because he certainly fuckin’ doesn’t. “As if you would listen to me any more than you’d listen to her.”

“Sure I would,” Black Star argues lightly, knocking his head against the bricks behind him. Even though it’s January, it’s fuckin’ warm. The kind of warm where with your sweater on you’re kinda hot, but taking it off makes you too cold. It’s pretty shitty. “Go ahead, tell me.”

“Go to class, Black Star.” It’s punctuated with a cough.

“Sure,” Black Star nods, pushing off the wall and starting toward the building. When he glances back, Soul looks a little freaked out. With a grin, Black Star waves his guidance slip above his head, “Got a meeting with the big cheese. Hey, don’t forget about tonight.”

Soul sneers at him, dropping the rest of the joint to the ground and stomping it out with his boot. “Yeah, who could? Your cousin has been texting me like crazy. Hey,” he says as he gets closer, throwing an arm over Black Star’s shoulder and tugging him close. “Tell her to back off a bit, I ain’t into old pussy.”

“Are you sure you’re even into pussy, you fuckin’ cocksucker,” Black Star laughs, shoving him away. He doesn’t mention that Morella being twenty-eight isn’t _old._ Soul growls something back, pushing Black Star into the wall, then races up the stairs to get to the door before Black Star can retaliate. The doors are locked though, and there is a brief struggle at the door. By the time someone comes around--Kim Diehl, he thinks her name is--Black Star has Soul in a headlock.

“Uh,” Kim looks torn between booting them down the steps or closing the door. “I’m not standing here all day. Hurry up.”

Black Star shoves Soul and makes his way inside, thanking Kim with a grin and a wink, while Soul struggles in behind him. “You’re such a fuckin’ jerk,” Soul grouses, rubbing his neck. “I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” Black Star waves over his shoulder, heading down the stairs to the guidance office.

* * *

 

Sid is looking really serious when Black Star makes his leisure entrance into the guy’s office. “Sit. Down,” is what he says, and a thick sense of foreboding settles heavily in Black Star’s gut. He hasn’t talked to Sid since before Christmas break and he’d been pretty pissed off when looking at Black Star’s marks then, so he can’t imagine how his marks look after exams. Especially since he missed two out of the four.

Sid steeples his fingers under his chin. He looks pale for a black dude, almost unhealthily so, and if Black Star were a better person he might ask if something was wrong. Black Star knows he and Nygus have been trying for kids, so maybe that’s what has him so drawn.

_I should probably go easy on him,_ Black Star decides, sitting up straighter when Sid puts his hands back down. “So what’s up?”

“Not your math mark.”

Black Star’s eyes widen comically, “What? And I worked so hard on it.”

“Writing ‘ _fuck this shit’_ on your exam and handing it in is not ‘working hard’, Black Star.”

“Hey, are you supposed to be swearing at me? I could report you.”

“Go ahead, idiot. I’d like to see what they say.”

Grinning, Black Star gets more comfortable in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “So is that why you called me in here? To yell at me a bit, hope I’ll start being a better student because you asked with all your heart?”

It’s Sid’s turn to grin, but it looks a little menacing, much like his dad’s when he’s got a particularly cruel plan in mind, and Black Star is reminded once more that Sid used to _be_ White Star’s right hand man, and that they probably learned that grin from each other. The idea is a pleasant one in Black Star’s mind--his dad and his...well Sid, working together and gun running. It’s an awesome thing to picture, and for the life of him, Black Star doesn’t know why Sid would ever want to quit. But to each their own, right?

Black Star raises an eyebrow at Sid, if only to make him talk. The guy was always one for the dramatics.

“That wood shop class you’ve got. You like it?”

“...no,” Black Star says because he knows saying yes will back him into a corner. He _does_ actually like the class, if only because it gives his hands something to do for seventy-six minutes and there isn’t any course work. “It’s shit. I hate it.”

“Good, then you won’t mind taking math this semester again.”

Black Star laughs a bit, watching Sid’s reaction. Is he serious? If Black Star failed in first semester, what the fuck makes him think he’ll pass in second? He asks the man this, and Sid’s grin grows wider.

“I’ve got you a tutor. This is the last math credit you’ll ever have to take, and next year you’ll only have to retake English. And I’m trying to make sure your dumbass graduates along with the rest of your class. You think your dad will like you any better if you’re a high school drop out? A failure? Think real long and hard about it, kid.”

“Fuck you, you goddamn pencil pusher,” Black Star snaps, but he _is_ thinking about it, and he knows that his dad will be fuckin’ pissed. That’s why Black Star had hidden his report card from him, though that bitch Medusa had found it in his room somehow and threatened to show the old man, anyway.

“I’m just trying to better your future kid. It’s just the kind of man I am.”

“Yeah, well the kind of man you are fuckin’ _sucks._ I don’t need a tutor, and I’m not taking math. Who the fuck needs _math_ anyway? Give me a class I can actually _use_ when I’m older.”

Sid sighs, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Black Star is already up and out of his seat, shoving the chair back. “Yeah, sure. I’m outta here.”

“No you’re not,” Sid lifts his head, leaning back in his chair. Despite himself, Black Star’s hand pauses on the door handle. “Why did you come? I’m sure you knew I’d say something like this.”

“Maybe I missed you,” he sneers, turning to look at the man over his shoulder. Something flashes across Sid’s face, but it’s gone before Black Star can identify it. “Or maybe I was hoping to have a valid reason to be out of class.”

Sid looks worn and a lot older than he has in a long time, and he nods to the chair Black Star had previously vacated. “Sit down, kid; let’s talk.”

His grip on the door handle tightens slightly before he releases it with a groan, dropping back into the seat. “Talk about what?”

“Your tutor? Where to find her? When to find her? I can think of several other things, and you said you wanted an excuse to be out of class.”

“Sorry, I’m stuck on the ‘her’ part. She’s a chick? If it’s Maka, I’m gonna fuckin’ punch her--”

“It’s not Maka and you won’t punch her. And if you do anyway, I’ll break your hand, you brat. Also, watch your mouth.”

Black Star does not pout, but it’s a close thing. He also does not that say _she_ would break his hand and probably every other bone in his body. Instead of saying anything else at all, he examines the room and the guy who has his name on a plaque on the door. Sid doesn’t look like a guidance counselor, doesn’t even look like he should be _near_ a school. He’s got the kind of aura that gives off bad vibes if you don’t know him, the kind that used to get him into a lot of trouble in school, Black Star’s heard (well, that and the copious amounts of pot he smoked and how much he skipped classes), but he’s actually a really cool guy. Usually. Well, he sometimes let’s Black Star stay the night when things get rough at home, and that makes him pretty good in his book. It also pisses his dad off how close the two of them are, so it’s a plus.

There is evidence of Black Star in the room--just a picture of a little brunette boy sitting on Sid’s shoulders, Nygus standing beside them and shooting a peace sign. Most people wouldn’t even know it was Black Star, and still more don’t. He doesn’t look the same; his hair is a vibrant blue that Morella dyes every month, and his grin is a little more crooked, but Black Star has his own version of the picture in his wallet.

“How are things at home?” Sid asks carefully, mimicking Black Star’s position. He very carefully does not look away from Sid’s eyes, because doing so would dig him into a deeper hole.

“Awesome.”

The look Sid gives him is a mixture of thinly veiled annoyance and exhaustion. “You know if you ever need a place to stay...”

“Yes, yeah. Thanks. Now can we move on and get this over with? I’m getting a vomit-y feeling from all the sappy shit you keep spouting.”

Sid glares at him, but straightens up all the same. He clicks around on his computer for a few long seconds before turning the monitor around and showing Black Star the time slot, room number, and name of his tutor. “You think you can remember this? Or do I need to print you one out?”

_3:00 PM, Room 206, Tsubaki Nakatsukasa._ Tsubaki. Tsubaki? He’s pretty sure he’s heard that name before. Or at least her last name rings a bell, but he can’t place her face. “She hot?”

“Now,” Sid says sternly, leaning across the desk and meeting Black Star’s gaze with a fierce glare. Black Star can hardly help how he snaps to attention under the commanding voice. “I know that you’re not dumb, it’s just that you lack _effort_ , so she’ll help you catch up, and you _will_ catch up, Black Star.”

“Says you,” he quips, shrugging and looking at the wall, eyeing the picture frames and diplomas.

This is where Sid laughs; only it’s bitter. “Says the school, actually. You don’t shape up this semester, then you’re out.”

Black Star knows he’s trapped. Getting kicked out is bad for several reasons, but the biggest one would be that his dad would _kick his ass_. When he and Soul had been officially initiated, they’d had to promise to keep up with their school work, if only to keep up pretenses. When Black Star said that was the lamest thing ever, he’d gotten a broken nose.

His fingers itch for his lighter, or his switchblade, and he feels very much like an idiot, although he knows that’s not what Sid has intended. “Fine, yeah. I’ll work on it.”

“See that you do,” Sid nods, waving his hand toward the door. “Now get to class.”

Black Star only _just_ refrains himself from shooting Sid the finger.

* * *

 

It’s around 3:15 when he shows up at the tutor center, half an hour after school has ended. If Black Star’s honest, they’re lucky he even came, if only because Alison Connors had grabbed his belt buckle when they’d been making out ten minutes ago, and he’s _pretty_ sure she was down for more than a little grabbing. But, he also knew that Sid would only harass him more if he didn’t go, and Alison would always be there another day. Probably. Even if she’s not, there are tons of other girls who like hanging around them to get in close with some of the older guys in the gang, so it’s not like he’d have a hard time getting it from someone else.

Smirking, Black Star looks around the room for his tutor. If she’s anything like Maka, then he’ll have a hard time charming the pants off of her enough that she’ll let him skip, but if not he’s got a pretty good chance. Girls are easy to persuade when you treat ‘em nice. Unless they’re Maka and they can see through your bullshit.

Seriously, sometimes Black Star _wonders_ why he’s friends with her.

“Are you...Blake?” A polite voice asks from his left. Black Star freezes for a second, because nobody calls him Blake, but he recovers quickly and turns to her, shifting the weight of his bag around on his shoulders. Fuckin’ math text books.

“Yeah, and you’re uh...” _hot,_ he thinks, eyeing her up and down. Yeah, she’s definitely not a friend of Maka’s, because he would know her for _sure_. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen tits like that on a girl their age before, and those _hips_ (Black Star might be a tits man, but he can appreciate a nice set of hips, and with ones like those, it’s gotta say something about her _ass_ ). She’s got a cute face too, which is weird considering her body is out of this world. Girls like this are like something out of one of his...better dreams, and Black Star figures Sid must be fucking kidding.

Or, really goddamn smart.

“Tsubaki,” she answers for him, smiling slightly and holding out her hand. “I think we had geography together in ninth grade? Only, you didn’t show up much.” She smiles slightly, doing this little head-tilt that makes her neck look super long and super sexy. _Goddamn Sid._

“Geography wasn’t really my thing, and Ms. Mjolnir is about as exciting as watching paint dry, so.” He shrugs, grabbing her hand and shaking it a few times, marvelling at how _not soft_ they are and wondering where she built up those callouses and also wondering how they’d feel wrapped around his--

She’s been talking, he realizes. She’s also walking away from him toward a little table-booth thing and he remembers why he’s actually here and the goal he’s set for himself. He can pass math just fine, he just. Doesn’t...want to? Gritting his teeth, he follows, nodding along when she asks him questions about what they talked about last semester, even though he doesn’t really remember much. It was first period math; did they _seriously_ think he would show?

“So did you bring your work?” She asks as she slides into a seat across from him, dropping her bag onto the chair beside her. She turns pretty blue eyes on him, eyeing him for a second before turning to his back pack. “We should start as quickly as we can, since you showed up late and we only have until 4:30.”

Black Star stares at her for a moment longer than necessary, trying to determine if she’s actually serious. When she blinks at him questioningly, he realizes she is. “Oh, see about that. I was hoping we could get this done by like, 3:30, because I’ve got shit to do.”

“It’s...3:27 right now. You showed up fifteen minutes late.”

“Well isn’t that a stinger. Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay cutie?” He gives her a quick grin and moves to get up, but Tsubaki leans forward and latches onto his arm with an iron tight grip.

“You can’t leave yet,” she looks serious and a little disbelieving, as if she really thought he was coming here out of his own volition. _Ha,_ Black Star thinks, tugging his arm from her grip and shooting her a look, _that’s a good one._

“Pretty sure I can. Free country, right?”

She keeps her voice low but no less annoyed, “I--Mr. Barett asked me _personally_ to tutor you! And this isn’t a joke, Blake. You have to at least do _something--”_

“Let’s get a few things straight, sweet pea,” Black Star laughs, turning the chair around and sitting on it backwards, because that makes it way cooler. At least in movies, and when his dad does it. “First, you can call me Black Star, you can call me guy, but you cannot call me Blake. Second, just because you’re a goody-two-shoes loser who told Sid you’d help me, doesn't mean I’m gonna stay here. I couldn’t give a fuck less about this place if I tried, so you need to stop thinking that I want to be here, pronto. Third, don’t _tell_ anyone that I’m leaving.”

Tsubaki looks shocked for a second, maybe even a little scared. After a few seconds of that, her face turns tomato-red and Black Star can practically _feel_ the indignant vibes coming from her, and briefly entertains the thought of her yelling at him, because wouldn’t _that_ be a sight. She definitely wouldn’t be the first nerd he’d get to lose their temper.

But her face relaxes almost immediately, and it’s like she’s put on a mask. There isn’t any annoyance, not a trace of the indignation from before. Just a cool and collected chick. Not even the same one who greeted him at the door, and isn’t _that_ fuckin’ weird?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She murmurs, reaching for her notebooks and opening them. Black Star watches her, eyes narrowing at the way she just... _stopped_ being mad. “Try to be on time, too, please.”

Black Star watches her a little longer before shrugging and turning away, anxious to get to the club house.

* * *

 

He gets to the club at ten after four and is immediately bombarded by Katsuya, who speaks rapid Japanese in his face like he should understand it. His dad had taught him how to speak it, but he can barely understand Katsuya on a good day, let alone when she speaks at the speed of light. She looks happy to see him, though, so he figures he’s not in shit.

She curls an arm around his shoulder and walks him over toward the bar, shooting the bird to her old man, which he replies with a look that makes Black Star feel very uncomfortable, if only because Katsuya is like an older sister to him. Daichi looks at her like she hangs the goddamn moon. But then, that’s them. If he was looking for a couple that could hardly stand the sight of each other, he’d go and find his dad.

“Do you even listen to me, Black-chan?” She asks, pinching his cheek as she shoves him toward a bar stool beside Naomi, who looks way too fucked up for four o’clock in the afternoon. He realizes almost too late that Katsuya has called him -chan _again_ , but he snaps at her for it anyway.

“I’m not a fuckin’ girl!” He growls at her, taking the beer she slides across the bar happily. When she opens her mouth to reply, he cuts her off quickly. “I don’t give a _fuck_ if you used to dress me up like one when you babysat!”

“You should,” Katsuya pouts, while Daichi smacks him on the back of his head, muttering about minding his manners when talking to ladies. “Naomi, are you doing okay?”

Black Star chances a glance at the girl beside him, wincing when he realizes she looks like she’s gonna pass out, probably right on top of him. “Like, who the fuck lets her do this?”

“Her dumbass boyfriend, that’s who. How was school today, kid?” His older cousin Kenji asks as he slips around his daughter behind the bar, obviously looking for something.

Black Star shrugs, reaching for a tooth pick. “Educational.”

There are several snorts throughout the room, including Black Star himself, and he finally allows himself to relax. The familiar sounds of the bar fill his ears; Grey Star and his wife arguing in the background, a few of the Star eaters gossiping at one table, while two prospects make their way around the room, cleaning it before the bar opens later that night. Katsuya is speaking in Japanese again with Daichi, so Black Star turns to his cousin, taking a swig of his beer. “When's the meeting supposed to start?”

Kenji looks wary for a second, but clears his throat and tosses a look back at the doors separating them from White Star. “When he’s off the phone with Minako.”

As if on cue, there is a loud yell, some more Japanese that is not Katsuya, and in the silence that echoes through the bar room, Black Star can just hear Medusa in the other room, probably trying to soothe his dad.

Kenji sighs and shakes his head, running a hand through his waning hair. Black Star catches the look Katsuya tosses her father. When Black Star looks at him--really _looks_ he can see that Kenji is looking older and more worn than he had in a long time. _Seems to be a running theme in this town,_ Black Star thinks bitterly.

Cousin Minako seems to be the problem. She runs another charter over in Japan, and from the stories he’s heard of his cousin, she does it almost better than his dad. Minako is the one they get the guns from, and without her they’d have to find someone else. She’s cunning and brilliant and apparently brutal as hell (he heard from Daichi once that she castrated a guy for trying to rape one of her girls), and if she’s bad, her daughters are worse. If the Yakuza weren’t running things in the Japanese underworld, then he bets Minako and her girls would be, because nobody gets shit done better than her.

But she was also a slippery bitch who played a lotta games with his dad’s head. She had it in her head that since she was in Japan, their home, _she_ was the leader, the founder, which Uncle Kenji said was wrong. His dad started the gang when he was twenty, and it was only when he met Minako again at twenty-six that she started up the Japan charter. But Kenji said she was like that--a little bit crazy and real power hungry.

He figures that’s what’s going on in the back room, making his dad so angry. Minako’s been pitching a fit lately about how getting the guns to Death City was getting more and more difficult and Black Star didn’t blame her. Not only did they have the cops watching their every move lately, but Arachnophobia was always around the corner, waiting and watching. Arachne was almost as bad as his cousin.

Black Star finishes his beer just as Soul comes into the club, looking annoyed and--is that a split lip? That’s definitely a split lip. Grinning, Black Star lifts a hand in a wave. Did Soul get it from a girl? A guy? His _mom?_ The possibilities are endless, and he can’t wait to rub it in his face.

Soul makes his way over slowly, hands shoved into his pockets. He nods at some of the older guys, grins at Morella, who is busy doing the books, and finally comes to stand before Black Star. “Yo.”

“Hey,” Black Star’s grin grows wider now that he sees a bit of bruising around Soul’s mouth. _God_ he bets it hurt. Black Star can get hit virtually anywhere, but his dick and his mouth are the most sensitive places for damn sure. “Get into a fight?”

Naomi had vacated her seat at some point and dragged her sorry ass off somewhere--a quick glance around the room shows that Mike is nowhere to be found, so she’s probably with him--and Soul slides into her seat with little effort, glancing at Katsuya. She smiles sympathetically and says, “Now, what did you do to deserve that?”

“Nothing,” Soul grumbles, accepting the beer from her with a nod of thanks. “It’s what this idiot did.” With a jerk of his thumb, he points at Black Star, who raises his eyebrows.

“The fuck? How’s you getting socked in the mouth my fault?”

“Dunno,” Soul shrugs, hunching over his drink and glaring at him with unnerving red eyes. “Call Maka later and find out. She seemed pretty pissed.”

“ _Still?_ Jesus, that girl is not worth this much trouble, I fuckin’ swear.”

Katsuya laughs, leaning forward and playing with a straw. Beside Black Star, Daichi lets out a chuckle. He very much feels like they are laughing about something he doesn’t know, so he glares at the both of them. “What?

Reaching forward to flick Black Star on the forehead, Katsuya moves away and around the bar, coming out the other end. “Nothing, you’re just funny. I remember little Maka-chan running around here and beating you up all the time.”

Black Star shots her the finger as she drops off a drink at Morella’s side and then leaves the room, but before he can complain to Daichi about handling his old lady better, the guy is sliding off his own stool and heading toward the back room, where his father has opened the door.

He takes a breath before following.

* * *

 

As each guy gives his report, Black Star watches his dad get more and more pissed. His hair looks greyer these days than its usual white, and Black Star wonders just how much of Arachnophobia has caused this. Behind his dad, Medusa tightens her fingers on his shoulders, painted nails digging into his leather jacket. Black Star just holds himself back from glaring at her.

“Who was doing this? Giriko?” His dad asks, snapping Black Star’s attention back to the table. Mike, who sits across from him, nods. His hair looks tousled and there is a huge hickey on his neck, but Mike still looks put together and has his stupid better-than-you vibes rolling off him in waves. Pretentious asshole.

“Yeah, the prick was waiting outside _Chupa’s_ for me.”

“He try and fight you?”

“Nah, just told me to stop selling guns on their turf. As if _Chupa’s_ is _their_ turf.”

White Star grunts, linking his fingers together and resting his chin on them. It reminds Black Star of Sid, and he quickly squashes the urge to say anything dumb. Beside him, Soul is tapping his fingers quietly against the arm of his chair, and it distracts Black Star enough that he doesn’t hear his father the first time he addresses him. “Huh? Sorry, uh. What?”

Glaring, White Star repeats his question. “Were there any problems with you or Eater this week?”

Black Star quickly goes through the last week in his head, trying to remember if there was anything weird or out of the ordinary that happened. He _had_ seen Giriko, but it was only because the guy was getting milk from the store, which. Well it was weird, but mostly because Black Star had thought the only thing Giriko drank was his liver away. Ha. “Nope, nothing. Right Soul?”

“Nothing,” his friend agrees, meeting White Star’s eyes. Black Star has no idea how he can do that, because his dad scares the fuck out of everyone and meeting his eyes is like meeting a wolf’s. Stupid and dangerous.

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for Soul, his dad likes him. Or at least he tolerates him more than he does Black Star, which is crap because Black Star is his _blood._

“Well watch out, I suppose. Mike, try and keep things civil. The last thing we need is the cops hanging around even more. Or finding a reason to charge you.”

Mike nods, and the White Star lets out a loud sigh, dropping his hands and sitting back in his chair, spine straight. “Now, I’m sure you all heard my phone call with Minako?” It is posed as a question, but isn’t one really. Black Star’s surprised they didn’t hear the conversation in Vegas.

“Well the new shipment will be a bit late. Minako’s girl Junko ran into some trouble at the harbour last night, so they need to regroup and figure some things out. In the meantime, make sure our buyers know what’s up.”

“The guys in Vegas aren’t gonna be too impressed,” Kenji mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. Beside him, Daichi looks tense, and on his other side, White Star frowns.

“After the shit they pulled last year, they’re lucky we’re still dealing with them. Just make sure they know it’s _your_ sister who’s fucking up this operation.” The worlds are punctuated with a glare, and Black Star feels marginally bad for his cousin. Still, Kenji nods and soon the meeting is adjourned.

Black Star is getting up to leave when his father clears his throat and tells him to stay. Soul shoots him a look, eyebrows drawn together, but Black Star shrugs.

Sitting back down, Black Star leans back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs. “What’s up?” He asks when the doors close. Medusa slides smoothly into the seat across from him, looking far too smug for her own good. He almost doesn’t want to look at his dad, but when the guy comes and rests a hand on the back of his chair, Black Star can’t help himself. He glances up at him, eyebrow quirked. “Okay, what did I do?”

White Star has him by the back of his neck faster than he can think, squeezing and pushing him forward. “I heard a funny story today. A little bird told Medusa here that you were in Sid’s office for a while today. Would you like to tell your old man what the fuck that’s all about?”

He resists the urge to snarl, but only just. It had to have been fucking Crona who ratted on him, since the piece of shit is always in the guidance office. He should have known better than to go to that meeting, dammit. With a sigh, he grits out, “It wasn’t anything; Sid wanted to know how I did on my exams.”

“And how _did_ you do on those exams?”

“Aced ‘em,” he says without hesitation, but the hand on his neck only tightens.

Black Star can just see the bottom of Medusa’s face when he looks up. She’s smirking something awful, and he realizes what the bitch must have fucking done. She showed him the report card. “I gave you a chance, Black Star,” she says wistfully, fingernails digging into the wood of the table. “You had to tell your dad or I would. And now look where you’ve gotten yourself.”

“Pretty stupid of you,” White Star agrees from above, releasing Black Star. “So what did Sid tell you? They’re kicking you out?”

Glaring at the table, almost wishing he could burn a hole in it, Black Star shrugs. “Tutoring.”

Medusa snorts, and White Star outright laughs, one of those full belly ones that the funny babies on YouTube do. Only this isn’t funny or cute, it’s menacing as hell and Black Star braces himself for the hit, though he has to be honest: sometimes he never really braces himself enough.

He knows his nose isn’t broken, but the force of his face hitting the table is enough to make it bleed, and the grip White Star has on his hair hurts like a bitch. Black Star has no idea how girls can fight by pulling hair.

Despite himself, Black Star shivers when White Star whispers, “You’d better have that mark up by June, kid. Or you’re fucked.”

For the life of him, Black Star will never understand why his dad is so obsessed with his grades. It’s not like he finished high school with flying colours. A part of Black Star sometimes thinks that maybe it’s the parental part of his dad coming to light; wanting him to do better because he knows he can _be_ better. He knows it’s outrageous to think, but Black Star refuses to believe anything else.

His dad must have wanted an answer, because he shakes Black Star’s head once, hard enough that it feels like maybe his brain was knocked loose in there and is rattling around. “Do I make myself clear!?”

“Yes, sir.” Black Star answers gruffly, shifting his gaze to Medusa when his dad lets him go. Black Star tastes copper on his tongue, and he glares at Medusa. “I’ll make it happen.”

“Good,” Medusa smiles, eyes sharp and condescending. She reaches across the table and grabs his hand, digging her fingernails into his skin. “We just want the best for you, after all.”

* * *

 

It’s close to midnight by the time Black Star gets around to calling Maka, which he hopes pisses her off. How dare she punch Soul in the face without a valid reason?

_“Hello?”_

“Why’d ya punch our boy Soul?”

“ ** _Your_** _boy Soul, not mine. And because he has a stupid look on his face all the time and because you’re an idiot and I wanted the message to be passed along for sure.”_

“So you punched Soul?” Black Star shuffles around in his bedside table, looking for his lighter, but can’t find one. How the fuck does he not have a lighter on hand whenever he needs one, _seriously._ “Which was a good hit, considering the bruising and the split lip. Props.”

On the other end, Maka huffs. “ _I know, thank you. And yes, I knew he’d tell you to call me if I hit him. Now, do you want to tell me why you were a huge jerkoff to Tsubaki today?”_

“Who?” Black Star asks, leaning off the edge of his bed to reach his bag. He spots the math textbooks and, oh, right, “Oh, the hot one with the great tits. What about her?”

“ _You were a huge jerk to her!”_

Something clicks, and Black Star snaps, “Wait? How the fuck do you know? Also, no I wasn’t. I was nice enough.”

_“We’re friends, you moron!”_

“No,” Black Star shakes his head, not finding his lighter. He scowls at his room as a whole and lies back on his bed, cradling the phone to his ear. “No fucking way. Wouldn’t I know? I would know.”

“ _The only time we hang out or talk is when I’m yelling at you for something!”_

“Really? Huh,” Black Star makes a face at his ceiling. “So what about Tsunami?”

_“Tsu **baki** ,” _Maka growls into the phone. With a roll of his eyes, Black Star grunts at her to continue. “ _And you were a jerk. She could have gotten into a lot of trouble by letting you leave!”_

“Whoops.” Black Star yawns, rolling over and wishing for a lighter or his laptop charger or Wi-Fi or something. A good session or maybe jerking off would put him to sleep real easy. “Well you are just in luck; because I’m actually gonna go tomorrow.”

“ _...you are?”_

“Yup. Boss’ orders.”

There must be something in his voice that gives him away, because Maka asks in a very small voice, “ _is everything alright?”_

Grunting, Black Star rubs at his sore nose and reaches over to turn off the lamp. “S’all good. Hey, listen I gotta go. Catch ya later.”

Maka sighs, sounding defeated. “ _Yeah, okay. Bye, Black Star.”_

He ends the call and closes his eyes.

* * *

 

“Hi,” Black Star says, dropping his bag to the ground and slipping into a chair across from Tsubaki, who looks up sharply, eyes widening when she realizes it’s him sitting across from her. Black Star wonders if maybe he should be offended, but then decides probably not. “So where are we starting today?”

Tsubaki looks at him skeptically for a few seconds before reaching out across the table, hand open. “Can I take a look at your textbook? I can figure it out from there and then we can start.”

Black Star stares at her for a second before reaching into his bag and reaching for his math textbook, handing it to her with a grin.

She smiles back at him

* * *

 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never been to one of the Thompson’s parties?” Black Star asks sceptically, leaning forward into her personal space. He likes getting her flustered when he does this, if only because it’s funny to watch her struggle.

Tsubaki shrugs, leaning away and pushing her bangs away from her face. “That’s right. I mean, I’ve heard about them but I’ve never gone.” Giving him a pointed look when he starts flicking his lighter on and off, she turns back to his work. “Now, you’re issue here is—“

“You wanna go this weekend? I could get you an invite.”

Pursing her lips, Tsubaki glances up at him from beneath her fringe. He holds his lighter tight in his hand, matching her gaze with one of his own. This chick is too damn hot to sit at home on weekends. Or worse, hang out with _Maka_ (who he knows has been to the Thompson’s infamous parties and has _enjoyed_ herself). Black Star is just looking out for Tsubaki, for the good of the people and the world. Looks like that? It’s a damn crime, her hiding away. A damn _crime._

She lets out a sigh and leans back in her chair, swiveling around on it. “I don’t really want an invitation, to be honest with you.”

Black Star can’t help but laugh at that. She doesn’t _want_ an invitation? What the hell? He has no idea who wouldn’t wanna go to one of those parties. Hell, even some of the gang go to the fuckin’ things. Tsubaki must be hiding something, because not only had she denied an invitation, but she denied going with _him,_ although maybe he hadn’t made that as clear as he should have. “I mean that we could go together. Me and you?”

“So you could ditch me once we get there?” Despite the blush on her face, she gives him a firm look and points to the math textbook. “No thanks. Now tell me how you did this question.”

Black Star sticks his tongue out petulantly and crosses his arms over his chest, pulling a laugh from Tsubaki. “You’re so childish. Come on, if you finish this we can leave early. I don’t want to start on another unit until tomorrow.”

“Speaking of tomorrow,” Black Star begins uncertainly, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “I have things to do, so I won’t be making it.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “Black Star…”

Shrugging, he slumps low in his chair, glaring at the other side of the room. “Don’t get all _‘Black Star’_ with me. I have other responsibilities.”

Tsubaki frowns, but pushes the book toward them. “Thursday, then?”

“Thursday,” Black Star agrees.

* * *

 

Thursday comes, and then another. Soon, going to tutoring isn’t even that big a deal. Not that Black Star particularly likes it, because he doesn’t, but hey sometimes it’s better than hanging out and getting high, or hanging out and getting head, or just sitting around the club and listening to Mike whine about something, or Katsuya insult him in Japanese, or Morella flirting with Soul. It also helps keep his mind off of things like his dad and Medusa, and the stupid assholes at Arachnophobia who keep trying to fuck with them, at least for an hour or so every day.

Tsubaki isn’t bad, either. He’s hung out with her a few times—just little things, like going to the movies with her, Soul, and Maka, or just hanging out around school at lunch. He doesn’t do it a lot—he and Soul have a reputation and keep, and Maka is the epitome of a ruined one. Well, hanging out with her is. He _does_ like hanging out with Tsubaki though. She’s funny and sweet and different from the girls he usually hangs out around, which is to say she’s not a huge slut or a drug addict.

He tells her this once, on a Friday afternoon, tonguing a cut in his mouth, while simultaneously fingering the bruise on his cheek. It’s five-something and they’re hanging out in the main lobby like a couple of losers, waiting for the rain outside to die down so she can walk home. She’s got her legs tucked up underneath her on the uncomfortable metal bench, and she makes a face at him. “Thanks?”

“It’s a compliment,” Black Star assures her, scrolling through his twitter feed on his phone. He laughs at a picture of an alien and the caption “ayyy lmao” on it, turning his phone around to show Tsubaki. She doesn’t find it as funny, but that’s just because he has a lot to teach her.

“Can we go back to you complimenting me? Because it felt very backhanded.” Tsubaki waves at a few people leaving the school, and turns back to him with a raised eyebrow. He smirks at her and stretches, spine popping in several places.

“I’m just saying that you’re pretty cool for someone who tutors. And _math_ , at that.” He shudders, grinning at her laughter.

Tsubaki smiles warmly at him, glancing away from him and toward the doors. Black Star can see a hint of red across her cheekbones and smirks. “Well…thanks, I guess.”

“Sure.”

They talk a bit longer, and soon enough the rain has stopped. Standing, Black Star shoots her a look over his shoulder, “You live far from school?”

“Near the hospital,” Tsubaki says, shouldering her bag and starting toward the doors. “Why?”

“I can give you a ride,” Black Star shrugs, catching up to her easily. The air outside is thick and warm—it’ll rain again soon, he realizes with a grimace. Tsubaki shifts beside him, looking tentative.

“You have a car?”

“A bike.”

Her brows furrow for a moment, but before he can correct himself, the realization sets in on her face, and if he’s not mistaken, there is a spark in her eye. “A motorcycle?”

Laughing, Black Star turns jumps off the curb and starts toward the next street over, where he and Soul park their bikes. Tsubaki keeps pace with him easily, and when he looks at her in his peripheral, she’s grinning. “You’re not scared? Most girls are.”

“I think it’ll be fun. Stuff like that is exhilarating. Don’t tell Maka, though,” she turns a wide-eyed gaze onto him, prompting a smirk out of him. Resting his hands on the back of his head and closing his eyes, he shrugs, “Sorry, not promises.”

He barely dodges the swing of her bag, snorting at her loud cry of “ _Black Star!”_

“Hey, listen we all need to have our leverage, right? Don’t take it personally— _what the **fuck**!?”_

Black Star barely moves when she bumps into his shoulder, and he completely ignores her gasp of horror, because he’s feeling pretty horrified at the moment. Six feet ahead of him, his bike is completely _fucking_ trashed, and it all screams Arachnophobia.

Or more specifically, Giriko. Probably. Black Star isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t put it past the piece of shit to wreck his bike. In fact, it’d be sweet payback for the way Black Star had stolen his date a few weeks ago, but still. Fucking with a guy’s bike is like asking for a knife in the gut, and Black Star will be only too goddamn happy to give it.

“Holy crap,” Tsubaki breathes, the words muffled by her hands. “I—do you want me to call the police? My brother—“

“Don’t call anyone,” Black Star grits out, stalking toward his bike. It’s not as bad as it could have been, but it’ll still take a lot of work to be fixed, and it’ll be a while until he can drive it again. To add insult to injury, he spies white spray paint on his seat, an A staring back at him with what looks like a shitty spider web around it. “Just…go home, I guess. I’ll figure this out.”

He hears her shoes scuff against the ground toward him, but she must think better of it. “Are…are you sure? I can do something, if you need me too.”

“Yeah, leave,” he snaps, turning to glare at her. He feels awful for being such a dick, but he’s fucking pissed, and he has to make a few calls. It would be better if she weren’t privy to them.

She seems to battle her emotions momentarily, but finally makes up her mind, turning on her heel and heading the other way.

* * *

 

Twenty minutes of staring at his broken bike later, Black Star hears the low rumble of engines heading his way. In the houses around him, some people close their blinds, while others open them to see what’s going on. Or, if you’re like the old cook down the road, you’ve been out on your porch since Black Star first swore.

His dad’s is the first bike that rounds the corner, and Black Star can see the exact moment he sees the bike. His knuckles tighten around his handlebars, and his mouth curls up into a snarl. “Arachnophobia?” He asks when he’s close enough to speak over the rumble of the engine without yelling. Yellow Star and Grey Star are the only other guys with him, which Black Star is grateful for. If Mike had been here, Black Star never would have heard the end of it, and if Liz or Soul had come too, he’d have an angry Thompson on his hands and a smug Soul.

Black Star exhales sharply through his nose, shoving his hands into his pockets. A drop of water falls on the bridge of his nose, and he glares at the sky. “Yeah, guess so.”

“Fuckers,” Yellow Star—Kenji—bites out, phone already in hand, Morella on the other line as he asks her to bring the truck to the school. Black Star doesn’t know why they didn’t do it in the first place, but they probably thought he’d been lying or something. Assholes.

“Fuckers,” Grey Star agrees lightly, wearing the same smirk-y little smile that his son always wears. Like father like son, Soul always mutters when Grey Star and Green Star are around, to which Black Star can only nod. They’re both shit disturbers and always looking for trouble, and he’s surprised they haven’t tried to kill Minako or his dad to become president. It seems like the kind of shitty thing they’d do.

His father swears darkly and rubs a hand over his chin, giving his bike a dirty look, like it’s his fault it got trashed. “This is why I wish you wouldn’t drive the damn thing to school.”

“Oh, sure, I’ll just ride bitch with Soul. How the hell else would I get to school?” Black Star asks sarcastically, glaring at his dad with enough vehemence to curdle milk. He is so not in the mood to deal with his dad’s bull, and he’ll probably have to pay out of his own pocket to get his fucking bike fixed now, too.

His dad grins at him, sharp and angry. “You like that idea? Riding bitch?” His eyes are glittering, and behind him, Yellow Star and Grey Star shift, starting their bikes back up. “Good, you’d better get used to it. Or maybe just walk? You can start now.” He guns his engine, ripping away from Black Star with a mean laugh. To add to his day of misery, Grey Star drives through a puddle, splashing Black Star up to his knees. At least Yellow Star gives him something akin to a sympathetic look.

With a sigh, he drops to the curb, ignoring the dampness settling into the butt of his jeans, and waits for Morella to come with the truck.

* * *

 

Black Star is so fucking mad that he doesn’t even realize he’s just shoved some chick into a locker in his attempt to reach the tutor center. Behind him, Soul apologizes on his behalf, but Black Star doesn’t even pay attention to it. “Man, you gotta relax!”

“Fuck off,” Black Star snaps over his shoulder, glaring at his friend for a second before turning back around, just barely dodging Patti Thompson, who gives him a stupid grin and tries to punch him in the kidney. She manages to nick him a bit, which only adds to his annoyance and anger.

He’d been under the impression for the past few weeks that this tutoring shit would be helping. Tsubaki had surely made it seem like it was, always encouraging him and smiling at him and telling him how awesome he was doing, like he was a kid or a dog that just learned a new trick. And yet, the score on his math test tells him differently, and it doesn’t help that they called home to tell his fucking dad. It’s only his luck that Daichi answered the phone and not someone who would rat him out, though he’s sure it’s only a matter of time. Crona’s in the same class as him and the fucker must have known that he’d gotten a shit mark, since Black Star hadn’t kept quiet about it.

The whole mark issue and the thing with his bike, well it’s really not his week.

Soul catches up to him and spins him around with a hand on his elbow. “Black Star!” He snaps, trying to get him to slow down, but it’s no use. He’s a man on a mission, and he’s about to rip his useless fucking tutor a new asshole.

He slams into the tutor center and is glad to see that aside from another quiet-looking boy, Tsubaki is the only one in there. She looks startled at the loud bang of the door, and then directs her gaze at him, looking confused. “...Black Star?”

Stomping into the room with Soul close behind, Black Star shoves his math test in her face, snapping, “A fifty-eight? Are you fucking kidding me!?”

Tsubaki takes a few steps back, looking affronted and pale. “What? What are you talking about, Black Star?”

He’s not thinking straight. If he were, he would know that this isn’t her fault—she doesn’t grade the papers, and she’s done her best, but he’s not thinking right and all he wants to do is yell at someone or punch a fucking _wall_ and since this is the easiest and most efficient way of letting out steam, he’s taking it out on her. This, in hindsight, is probably not the best idea. “The fuck do you mean? I’ve got a fifty-eight on my _test!_ You’re supposed to be helping me—“

“I’m not—this isn’t my fault,” she argues, hands clenched into fists at her sides. She looks like she’s shaking, and Black Star thinks, _good. Get angry. Hit me._ “You probably didn’t show your work! I _told_ you that you had to show your work or you wouldn’t get the full marks!” Soul is at his shoulder, pulling him out of her face—when had he gotten in her face?—and Tsubaki snaps, “Don’t blame your shortcomings on me, Black Star! I’ve been trying to help you!” The effect of her anger is lost on him when she looks slightly sheepish afterward.

He breathes in and out through his nose, aware of how red his face must be, and how hard Soul must be holding his shoulder. He doesn’t mean to take it out on Tsubaki, really. But she’s—she’s here and she’s the only one who he can _do_ this to without being reprimanded for it harshly. “Well you haven’t been doing a great job,” he snaps, and with that he tosses the paper in her face. Her eyes widen before she snatches it out of the air, glaring.

“Then stop coming,” she says, steely-voiced and angry. “It’s as simple as that.”

“Hey guys,” Soul butts in, stretching an arm across Black Star’s chest as he takes a step forward again, bracing him back. Soul’s voice is low, calm. “Quit it. Let’s get out of here, B.”

He glares at Tsubaki a moment longer, only turning away when hers begins to wilt. She almost looks guilty now, and Black Star refuses to acknowledge the squirming feeling in his gut. Fuck her.

Shrugging out of Soul’s grip, Black Star turns, startling only slightly when he realizes they have an audience. Nearly a dozen students are crowded by the door, trying to make themselves look inconspicuous, and then of course there is Maka, who is shoving her way through Harvar and Kilik, looking livid.

_“Black Star!”_

He elbows past her, starting down the hall toward the doors. He doesn’t have time to listen to Maka fucking squabble on about what a dick he is. He knows thanks.

Black Star tries to ignore them, but behind him Maka and Soul start going at it. “Are you kidding me!? Why didn’t you stop him? God, Soul you’re such an _idiot—“_

“It was none of my business, that’s why. And don’t call me an idiot!”

“People said they thought he was gonna _hit her!”_

Soul snorts, and Black Star is slightly relieved by his next words: “Black Star wouldn’t actually hit her, Maka. If you think that then you definitely don’t know him.”

“I know him _fine!”_

Black Star loses them in the crowd exiting the doors, and he quickly makes his way through the throng of people, desperate to get the hell out of this place. He thinks about going home, but decides that it’s a stupid idea. This also means that the club is ruled out, and probably Soul’s now that he’s lost him in the crowd, and he doesn’t really care to go back and find him. He could always head over to—no; he doesn’t wanna be around anyone if he’s angry.

He’s about to cut his losses and try and find Soul when an idea strikes him, and then he’s off down the street.

* * *

 

His dad said once and only once that his mom was a good lady, but that she had some issues that were never worked out, and that’s why she killed herself. He said that it wasn’t Black Star’s fault that she did, and that it wasn’t his fault either, it was just her and whatever was eating her up inside. It was probably the only time his dad has ever sat him down and dealt with his tears and snot above the age of six, and to this day Black Star isn’t sure if he’s grateful or angry with his dad for doing it. The only time he ever acted like a caring father was when he was telling his son that his mom killed herself. It might have been better if his dad had punched him in the shoulder and told him to man up and rub some dirt in it. It might have been better if Black Star had gone on without knowing about his mom’s death (like how she did it or the last thing she said to White Star, because his dad told him those things, too). But his dad had thought it was right to tell him, and Black Star isn’t sure if he can fault his dad for that.

His mom’s grave is a stone sticking out of the ground, only reaching his knees when he stands. Her name ( _Amelia Baxter_ ) and the quote underneath are faded and the stone is cracked in places, but Black Star thinks it suits her, or them really; rough around the edges.

The ground is damp when he sits down, leaning back against the stone and lighting up a joint; the atmosphere of the grave yard is just what he needs to chill out, and he makes sure his phone is on vibrate so it doesn’t disturb the quiet peacefulness of the place.

Black Star doesn’t remember the last time he came here—maybe in the summer, with Nygus, or maybe even before then. _It sounds so shitty to think about,_ Black Star frowns, flicking ashes toward the person’s grave beside hers. _Does that make me a bad son? Or does it make her a bad mom, for being here?_

He stops the thought before it can go any further, because thinking about shit like that will only piss him off more. He just needs to chill out, to relax. This week has been hell, this whole month has, and Black Star just wants a few moments of fucking _peace._

But his thoughts are going wild, angry with his dad and his family, with his mom and Soul and Maka and Tsubaki, with Sid and Nygus and everyone else who has ever shat on him or tried to be nice to him because they felt bad. His joint burns out and he can’t find it in him to relight it, only rubs it into the ground with his thumb, ruining it.

Grimacing at nothing in particular, Black Star leans forward to put his head between his knees, trying to even out his breathing. If he goes back home with all this pent up anger and energy, he’ll get his ass handed to him or a bag and be forced to find somewhere to sleep. Soul said his brother was currently in town, which meant the guest room at his house was off limits, and he wouldn’t wanna see Sid or Nygus, so those two are ruled out. The only other people he can think of would either be pissed at him (Maka) or working the late shift (Mifune).

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, just trying to relax and pull his thoughts together, but soon it’s much colder than it was, and the sun is nearly setting.

He’s still not getting anywhere with this breathing shit.

With a sigh, he heaves himself to his feet, running two fingers across his mom’s name as he leans down to grab his backpack. He’s just about to leave when, in the distance, he hears the loud rip of a Harley tearing through the side street, and Black Star _knows_ that bike almost as well as he knows his own.

Smirking, he turns in the other direction and starts off toward _Chupa Cabra’s._

* * *

 

Black Star’s knuckles slide along the wall as his opponent ducks, and one of the guys slams him into the bricks. He bites his cheek and kicks his leg out behind him, successfully hitting the guy in the knee. He’s released in seconds and he spins around, bringing his knee up into the guy’s face as he crumples forward.

There are two other guys, one going to Broken Knee, the other one coming toward Black Star. There is blood on his teeth from where Black Star has split his lip, and his eye is blackening nicely. Grinning, Black Star swings, misses, ducks, and uppercuts—

Giriko had fucked off earlier at some point, and Black Star has yet to decide if it was to get reinforcements (which was not likely, considering the guy could have just called them in off his phone) or flee like the pansy motherfucker he is (which is more likely, since he _is_ one). All he really knows for sure is that this is thrilling and exciting and each hit lifts a little bit of the weight off his shoulders. _That’s probably fucked up,_ he thinks as he gets a palm to the left of his face and a brick wall to the right.

He hadn’t really come to _Chupa’s_ looking for a fight like this; just wanted to hear from Giriko why the _fuck_ he thought he could wreck his bike. But the prick had denied any part in it, and Black Star wasn’t about that lying life, so he’d decked him and run out as fast as he could, hoping the idiot would chase him.

He was not disappointed. Well, maybe a little, since Giriko _had_ run off like a bitch.

“Ya think ya can just _hit_ our boss and you’d get away from it, Hoshizoku!?” The guy has foul smelling breath and rotten teeth, and Black Star would be only too happy to knock them out of his mouth for him. Instead, he settles for a head butt when the guy gets too close, which is pretty dumb on his part.

They both reel back from the impact—Black Star hits his head against the wall again, while the other guy stumbles away, tripping over bags of trash and falling against the wall. “You stupid _fuck!”_

“Yeah, man, my bad.” Black Star flaps a hand toward him, wincing. He’s about to turn away and leave when he remembers that there was one more.

Black Star already has his fists up when he gets one to the mouth. He immediately tastes blood, and it feels like one of them might be loose. Shit. He doesn’t have time to dodge as another fist hit’s his face, this time around his eye, and he bumps against the wall again. “Jesus _Christ_ you guys are annoying,” he gripes when the guy, who Black Star officially dubs Crazy Eyes, fists his hands in his sweater and shoves him repeatedly against the wall.

“ _Hey!”_ The shout from the mouth of the alley has the grip Crazy Eyes has on Black Star slackening.

“Yo, get the fuck outta here!” Crazy Eyes shouts, but his grip is slack enough that Black Star can twist out and away from him, stumbling across the ground. He regains his footing easily enough, though he feels like he might be sick.

“ _You_ get the hell out of _here!”_ The voice calls back, and when he comes near enough Black Star can see a familiar shade of white, though this is tamer. _Fucking A, man,_ Black Star sags. _Now I gotta save Soul’s brother’s ass._

Only, then Liz Thompson smashes the back door of _Chupa’s_ open, light flooding the alley. She’s glaring at all of them with a gun in her hand. _Alright, Liz,_ Black Star thinks with a grin, backing toward her and away from Crazy Eyes and his crew.

Crazy Eyes spits at Black Star’s feet, hitting his shoes. “Hiding behind a stripper?”

“ _Bartender,”_ Liz snarls, one hand on her hip, the other stretched out as she levels the gun at his chest. “And I know how to shoot. Get the fuck outta here.”

“He’s a Hoshizoku!” The guy argues, but he moves toward his pals, helping Broken Knee stand. “ _Star Gang!”_

Black Star can hear the smirk in her voice as she says, “Yeah? So am I.”

The guys leave shortly after, and Wes fucking Evans helps Broken Knee into a cab. “The fuck is he doing here?” Black Star asks Liz when they get inside, scowling when she slides him a soda and not the beer he ordered. She shrugs, at the face he makes.

“He’s here for me. He accused me of avoiding him on the phone earlier. You wanna tell me why Giriko left this place in such a hurry?”

“Wait, wait, wait back up to the part where you said you phoned him—“

“He phoned _me.”_

“—because Soul would not like you fuckin’ his brother. Wes is like an angel, I heard.”

Liz snorts, “Hardly. Now tell me about Giriko before my boss comes over here and kicks you out.”

He sighs, sinking low on the stool and side-eyeing Wes, who has come in from outside and sits a few stools away. He looks like an older, cleaner version of Soul, and it’s freaking him out. “You heard about my bike?”

“Yeah?”

“It was Giriko.”

Liz frowns, wiping a glass clean and pouring a shot of tequila. “Take that quick,” she advises him, scanning around for her boss or someone who might rat her out. He downs the shot and winces at the bad quality. “You guys are serving shit.”

“Then don’t _drink_ it,” she snaps, grabbing the shot glass. “And don’t pick fights against Giriko. I know you think you’re some kind of… _god_ but you’re not. His guys could kill you if they wanted to risk pissing your dad off.”

They glare at each other for a while, but she blinks and looks down the bar at Wes. “So what’s up with him?” He asks, sipping from his pop petulantly. His phone vibrates in his pocket, but he ignores it. “Got a crush?”

“Do you blame him?” Liz asks loftily, then, “No, he’s subbing at your school as the music teacher and apparently, Patti is acting up.”

“Wow, what a shocker.”

“Shut your damn mouth, brat.”

His phone vibrates again, and Liz sighs. “I better go take care of him, huh? You head home or something. Try and avoid the snake bitch if you can.”

_Medusa, right,_ he’d forgotten all about her for a second, but now the thought of her lurking around and causing shit is in the forefront of his mind. It’s probably Crona or Ragnarok texting him right now. If his dad wanted him, he’d call. “Yeah, whatever; thanks Liz.”

“No problem, kid,” she smiles slightly, and then starts off down the bar.

* * *

 

Outside, he finds Soul. “What are you doing here? Go home.” His eye dart to the car Soul is leaning against, and his annoyance grows to new levels. In the passenger seat window, is Maka. She’s glaring at him, looking far too angry. Wes must have ratted him out, the motherfucker.

“I’m not in the mood, and I’m not even gonna ask why you brought Maka’s bitchass. I’m going home.” He drawls, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching forward, starting down the side walk. Maka snaps something at Soul, and he hears them begin to fight. She must get out of the car, because the door slams shut.

He hunches his shoulders up near his ears, wishing it wasn’t so damn cold. Maka’s shoes slap against the ground as she hurries toward him, and Black Star wishes she’d trip.

A hand comes down on his shoulder, fingers digging into the material of his sweater. He stops, turning slightly to glare at her—or he would, if it were Maka.

Tsubaki stands behind him, looking determined and worried. Which is strange, he thinks, because hadn’t he yelled in her face earlier today? He wouldn’t wanna talk to him if he’d done that, but then again, Black Star was a pretty black and white person. Tsubaki seemed like she could take a lot of shit. “Are you alright?” She asks when he turns around fully to face her. Her eyes widen at what must be a pretty messy sight on his face, and she covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh! We should get that checked out or something…”

He shrugs away from her wandering hands, glaring. “Why are you here?”

“They needed a ride…”

Snorting, Black Star turns to go, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He doesn’t wanna stay out here any longer, because he might be a dick to her again, and that’s the last thing he wants to do. She doesn’t deserve his anger, no matter how much he wishes she did. “Well, I’m fine. Go home, Tsubaki.”

“You’re not _fine,”_ her voice is quiet but firm, and he hesitates for a second, before rounding on her.

“How the hell would you know?” He snaps, fisting his hands in pockets. He doesn’t know who the hell she thinks she is, butting in, but he fucking thinks she should stop. He tells her this, and her face turns an alarming shade of red, before she stomps forward, fisting her hand in his sweater much like Crazy Eyes had earlier.

“I’m trying to _help you,”_ she breathes, anger making her eyes glitter in the light of the streetlamps. “I’m trying to be your friend! If you would just—just _let me!_ At least let me clean out the cuts on your face?” She releases him slowly, bringing her hands to her chest. Black Star bets she must be serious, that she really does want to help him, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Getting mixed up with him…it’s not the best idea. Does she know that? Or is she just being stubborn?

When he doesn’t answer, Tsubaki seems to deflate, her shoulders drooping. Her mouth opens, but he beats her to it, already walking past her toward Soul and Maka, who are still arguing. What helpful friends they are. “Are you coming? I don’t got all night.”

He doesn’t glance back over his shoulder, but he can hear the smile in Tsubaki’s voice when she murmurs, “I’m coming,” and runs to catch up to him.

* * *

 

“Ow,” Black Star complains lightly, only because he figures he shoulder. When Tsubaki glances at him and moves the alcohol-soaked cloth up higher, he actually yelps. “Uh, Tsubaki!?”

“Sorry,” pink spreads across her cheeks, “but it’s really bad right there.”

He sighs, relaxing on the edge of the bathtub. Tsubaki’s house is hella nice, and not like Maka’s nice or Soul’s nice, but nice like old and really… _elegant_ , as lame as that sounds. It looks like it could be his grandma’s house or something, and it’s nothing like Soul’s house which is furnished with the nicest shit money could buy, or Maka’s with mismatched couches in her living room. He wonders if she’s from money or something. Maybe her parents are doctors or CEO’s.

He asks her this, and she accidentally presses on his face again, “ _Tsubaki!”_ he snaps, leaning away from her, not missing the way her gaze darts everywhere but his face. “Jesus, watch it with that thing—“

“They died,” she tugs him back into range and cleans the rest of his face with quick and efficient moves, then grabs the Neosporin from the counter. “Hold still, this will feel cold, alright?”

Black Star stares at her, biting his tongue from asking anything stupid, like _how_ , because he knows from personal experience that people don’t like being asked that. He feels bad for asking at all, but how the hell was he supposed to know that her parents were dead? He grunts when she tugs him closer again, not realizing he’d turned away. “Sorry,” he mutters, meeting her eyes briefly, prompting a small smile out of her. He hopes she knows he’s apologizing for everything that’s happened today, because he won’t be doing that again.

With a sigh, she starts applying the Neosporin, hands steady and warm. “It’s alright,” she says with a small smile, one hand resting on his knee to steady herself. Black Star’s lips quirk up the slightest bit, and he’s about to ask something else, just talk to fill the silence when Maka’s voice comes from outside the door: “Can you two hurry it up in there? It didn’t even look that bad.”

“Fuck you, Maka!” Black Star snaps, feeling much better when Tsubaki lets out a loud sigh at the door.

“We’re just finishing up!”

“Thank _god,”_ Maka groans from the other side, “I might kill Soul if I’m out here with him much longer.”

Tsubaki rolls her eyes and turns back around, pressing a butterfly bandage to his face. “Are you sure you’re alright, Black Star?”

He shrugs, mostly because he doesn’t really know if he’s alright. He also doesn’t want to chance spilling his every thought to her; Tsubaki is suspiciously and annoyingly easy to talk to.

She watches him a moment longer before standing and gathering the materials she’d used to clean his face, putting them away in the medicine cabinet. “Well…I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks when he stands at the door, gripping the handle.

“Yeah,” Black Star says without hesitation. “You’ll see me.”

* * *

 

He walks home, despite Tsubaki’s protests that he get a ride. _I need fresh air,_ he’d told them, and now he kind of wishes he’d taken the offered ride. It’s _cold_ at night, and he lives pretty far from Tsubaki.

Still, by the time he gets home he’s a lot more relaxed than he has been all night, and feels much better because of it. The TV is on when he gets inside, his father passed out on the couch, snoring loudly. Black Star makes sure to slip by as quiet as possible. He doesn’t want to deal with his dad right now.

Actually, all he wants is to pass out and sleep for the next three days, but when he opens his door, a thin hand clamps down in his wrist, tight to the point that it actually kind of hurts. “The fuck?” he asks, glaring at Medusa. In the low light, her eyes seem to glow gold, and it’s unsettling, to say the least.

“Crona says you caused quite a scene in class today,” Medusa murmurs, leaning toward him. Her mouth is pressed nearly to his ear, and she trails her hand up his arm, finger nails dragging along his skin. He shivers despite himself, moving out of her reach.

“Crona’s a goddamn tattle tale,” Black Star sneers, eyes darting to the door down the hallway as it cracks open. “He needs to mind his own business.”

Her eyes darken and the smile on her face grows wider. “Does he now? I think it’s _you_ that needs to mind yourself. And, if you want me to keep this from White Star, then I need you to do me a favor.”

He steps back, glaring at her. “Fuck you.” He knows that going against her could fuck him in the ass big time, but Medusa is a crazy bitch and she’s lucky she’s still around. His dad would never pick a piece of ass over his own son. “Get out of my face.”

She snarls, low, grabbing his chin in her iron tight grip, pulling him back toward her. “I want you to stay focused on this club,” Medusa hisses. He’s close enough to smell her breath—something sweet, but too sweet. “If that means doing better in school, then so be it. Your father needs you, and failing school isn’t going to help you. I’m just looking out for you, Blake-y.”

Black Star snarls, shoving her away from him. “Let my dad worry about Club stuff, you fuckin’ gash.” With that, he opens his door and shuts it quickly behind him, right in her face. He hopes it didn’t wake his dad, but doesn’t really care. Who the fuck does Medusa think she is, getting into club shit? If his dad heard her saying that shit, he’d knock her back into her place. She might be the Queen right now, but his dad can smell a snake like a bloodhound.

At least, Black Star hopes he can.

He flops onto his bed face first, grimacing when he phone vibrates. Maneuvering himself so he can dig it out of his pocket, Black Star types in his password and squints at the screen. It’s from Tsubaki.

_Did you get home alright?_

Black Star can’t help the smirk that climbs up his face, and he quickly types back: _corse lol thx ;)_

He’s nearly asleep when his door creaks open, just enough that, peeking through half-lidded eyes, Black Star can see his father looking through. He doesn’t move an inch, just watches his dad watch him, and eventually, with a sigh, White Star closes the door.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Fab (fabulousanima on tumblr) for betaing this for me! Hope everyone enjoys~

 

The first thing Tsubaki does every single morning is make Masamune’s lunch.

It’s not because he can’t, because she knows her brother is very capable of making one, it’s just that if she doesn’t, he’ll pack it full of sugary, awful snacks. It also helps her feel useful; since the mornings are the only time they really get to spend together.

She is in the middle of fitting his sandwich nicely between an apple and a fiber one bar when her brother enters the kitchen, looking bleary. “It’s a school day?”

“Wednesday, actually,” Tsubaki smiles at him, pushing the warm cup of tea toward him. “Are you _that_ out of it? How late did you work last night?”

Masamune takes the tea gratefully, sipping it. “When did you make this? It’s the perfect temperature.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she chastises quietly, putting his lunch in the fridge. She turns back to him and gives him the face Maka calls “the Mom Look”. He shrinks under it accordingly, and scratches a hand through his long hair. When he doesn’t say anything, she lifts her hands to her hips. “Mas-a-mu- _ne.”_

He rolls his eyes at her and shrugs, “I got back at one, went to sleep at three.”

“Why are you awake!?” Tsubaki asks, shocked that he’d managed to drag himself out of bed this early. But then, she also knows that while she makes his lunch every morning, he wakes up to see her off. As it is, he rubs a hand over his tired face, peeking at her through spread fingers.

“Stop nagging.”

“I’m not nagging!”

The rest of the morning passes by quickly enough and by the time she’s ready to leave, he’s waiting by the door with her back pack in hand. “Do you have tutoring tonight?”

“Yes, but I’ll be home by five-thirty at the latest.”

Masamune looks weary, but he hands her her bag with little reluctance. After a moment of hesitation, he pulls her close and presses a dry kiss to her temple. Tsubaki sinks into the familiar embrace and hugs him tightly. “Please be careful on your way home,” Masamune finally says, pulling away and looking pointedly down the hallway.

Tsubaki nods, offering him a small smile before she leaves.

The walk to school is far, but the early morning breeze is usually enough to wake her up and start her day off well. If it’s raining or unbearably hot, Masamune usually gives her a ride, but Tsubaki likes walking. It’s time to think and time to herself, which she hasn’t really had a lot of lately. Before, Tsubaki hadn’t hung around Maka all that much—just occasional things, like a sleepover here, a movie there. They ate lunch together most days, but beyond that their friendship was more of an acquaintanceship. Ever since she’d begun tutoring Black Star, though, the three of them and Black Star’s friend Soul had begun to hang around each other more often. Most nights Tsubaki isn’t home until seven or eight, and by then she’d finishing the work she didn’t on her spare. There isn’t a whole lot of time to just breathe and think, so she revels in mornings like this.

She turns her iPod up louder as she walks, matching her steps to the beat of the bass in her ears. Walking to and from school is also a _really_ good work out, and considering she doesn’t have the time to get a gym membership, Tsubaki will take any chance at exercise she can get.

In her pocket, her phone vibrates a few times, probably Maka wondering if she’s left already. Tsubaki doesn’t reach for it, because she figures the girl could figure the answer out on her own, and instead begins to wonder if her teacher will _actually_ go through with the science quiz this time, or if he’s just bluffing. Stein is strange sometimes (most times) and never really tells them for sure when he’s scheduling things, so Tsubaki has been struggling a bit. She’s _good_ at science and math, but when teachers are all over the place, she has issues. At least, however, Stein likes her and gives her _looks_ when he says he’s thinking about assigning something. Small mercies, she supposes.

Over the pounding of the drum in her ear, she hears something that sounds like a motorcycle engine and her thoughts about Stein and schools are immediately redirected to Black Star and the fact that his math mark has been improving steadily. Not that she’d expected any different, really, since the only reason he’d been in tutoring was to get caught up on what he’d missed last semester and where he’d gone wrong—all of which he could have learned in class, Tsubaki had realized the third week into tutoring him—and he was back on track, now. Mostly, the two of them spent the tutoring time after school talking about anything and everything, while he occasionally did math questions. Professor Barett had told her yesterday that after this week, she would be finished tutoring him.

This really sucks, because Tsubaki enjoys it now. Sure, Black Star can be loud and irritating and sometimes he’s mean, but she likes talking to him and she…she thinks he likes talking to _her._ Or at least if he doesn’t, he’s a very good actor. She knows that telling him that they’re finished with the tutoring would mean he’d go back to hanging around his club more often and probably stop hanging around her. And she doesn’t want that—they’ve gotten to be friends over the past month, and the thought of throwing it away now would be…well it would be awful.

Tsubaki shakes her head, _You’re being stupid. He can do what he wants, and if he really decides to stop being your friend once this is done, then he’s not worth it in the first place._

Still, it’s almost like a part of her wants to find out if he’ll leave once the tutoring is over. It’s like a part of her wants to see if this is as genuine as she wants it to be.

Taking a deep breath to try and clear her thoughts, Tsubaki thinks _stop._ Breathe in. Breathe out. _You’re worth more than him,_ she tells herself, despite the fact that she doesn’t really believe it. She could, of course, be blowing this completely out of proportion, but she also knows the reputation Black Star has with girls, and although they’re not like… _that…_ Tsubaki doesn’t want to be just another girl he’s thrown away.

So, she decides resolutely, she’ll just continue to tutor him on her own time.

* * *

 

Black Star jolts back to awareness seconds before he spills his coffee, which is thankfully saved by Crona, who is not only being very nice and quiet this morning, but is also making him eggs. What a guy. “Fuuuuck, man, I need to sleep earlier.”

“Okay, Crona,” Ragnarok mocks, leaning back on two chair legs. “Medusa makes him turn in at like _ten_ because if he doesn’t get his sleep he whines and pouts like a little bitch.”

“B-but you always…you always keep me awake! Yelling at the TV, or at your phone, or—or watching that _stuff_ on your laptop!”

“Wear earplugs.”

“I-I can’t, they bother my ears! And what if they end up stuck in there? What if they come out during the night and…and I accidentally eat one or--!!”

“Shut _up_ , man,” Black Star complains, dropping his head into his hands. Aaaand, the annoying Crona is back. Sweet. Smells like his eggs are fucking _burnt._ He really hates mornings, but mostly he hates Ragnarok and Crona. They’re Medusa’s little bitches and think they can just _trample_ all over his house and take over all this space and Black Star is not and will never be down for this shit. If he sees little pink hairs in the sink _one more fucking time—_

“Morning boys,” Medusa sings, dampening Black Star’s already waning mood. She smiles at the three of them pleasantly, sliding into the seat beside Ragnarok, who nods at her. “Crona, your eggs are burning.”

The pink-haired boy lets out a strangled cry, turning to the stove, where Black Star’s eggs are blackening. “O-oh! Darn it, what do I do?! Ragna _rok!?”_

With an aggrieved sigh, the bigger boy stands, making his way to the stove, where he grabs the pan, turns off the stove, and tosses the pan onto another, cool burner. “Just let ‘em fuckin’ cool, you retard.”

“Boys, enough,” Medusa chastises, tapping her fingernails on the table top. Her gaze is settled on him, and she tilts her head. “What’s that on your neck?”

His lip curls involuntarily, and he raises a hand to rest against the hickey on his neck. “Would you believe I burned myself?”

“No.”

“Then I think,” he says, getting to his feet, “that you have your answer. Tell dad I’ll be home late.”

Medusa laughs, “Why? Another date?”

“No, I just don’t like you, so the less I see of you, the better.” His voice doesn’t shake anymore when he tells her this, the same way he usually does, at least once a week. Medusa’s eyebrow raises, and both Crona and Ragnarok pretend like nothing has happened. Same old, same old. “Have a nice day,” he says finally, because his dad always told him that it’s the nice way of saying go fuck yourself after insulting or yelling at someone.

Medusa’s smirk follows him from the room, and Black Star has the vague sense that maybe he didn’t win this one.

* * *

 

Maka huffs angrily, glaring at Soul for all she’s worth. If Tsubaki weren’t her friend, she might have laughed. Or, if she were the type of friend Black Star is, she would be cackling to the point of falling over. “Maka…you have ketchup on your neck.”

It looks like she might actually pass out from sheer rage—and she hasn’t even said anything yet—so Tsubaki reaches over and wipes the ketchup away for her. “I’m sure Soul didn’t mean to…”

Soul is actually watching with a mixture of terror and humour, eyes alight. He _is_ actually very cute, Tsubaki decides, watching the way Maka’s eyes narrow and her own fingers tighten around the plastic fork she’d grabbed. She wonders if Maka argues with him because she thinks so too. Is this like one of those grade school crushes? Surely nobody can fight as much as the two of them do without feeling _something._

Well, she’ll have to ask her later. Right now, Black Star is tugging her out of the booth and onto the chair beside the booth, far enough away that being caught in the crossfire is a slim chance, but close enough that they can see what happens. Lunch has only just begun, so they have thirty more minutes to watch it all unfold. Currently, Soul is finishing laughing; fingers still ketchup-y from throwing the fry. “Your face is _so red!”_

Maka makes an enraged noise, launching into a long-winded tirade of just what an idiot Soul is, and what his mother should have done when he was a child to ensure that he’d never become so _goddamn stupid_. Tsubaki barely restrains herself from laughing, because when Maka is angry, she is _angry_ , all glittering eyes and spitting. Black Star must agree, because he’s leaning his head on her shoulder, wheezing as he laughs. “Christ, man. Maka you’re too goddamn much!”

She turns her glare on them, mouth open to yell, but she is cut short when three girls slide into Tsubaki and Black Star’s line of sight, blocking Maka. Tsubaki opens her mouth to ask them to please move, but the snotty look on the middle girl’s face—Anya Hepburn, if Tsubaki remembers correctly, a year younger than them—stops her from saying anything.

Black Star flinches beside her, and then he leans back in his own chair, grinning up at the girls. At least the other two look pleasant enough. “What can I do for you, Anna?”

“An _ya,”_ the girl corrects, hands on her hips. The fight behind the three girls has dwindled either into a silent one or nothing at all. “Can I talk to you?” Her eyes dart to Tsubaki, narrowing, before they slide back to Black Star. Her foot is tapping, and Tsubaki thinks this is what a mean girl looks like, which is sad, because she’s awful pretty.

Black Star snorts, “I’m kind of busy.”

Anya turns to look at Tsubaki fully this time, eyeing her from her sneakers to her ponytail. Tsubaki tugs her sweater tighter around herself, frowning. “Are you, now?”

When she turns back to him, Tsubaki sees the small frown in his face, matching her own. Does this girl think that they…? Tsubaki snorts despite herself, unwittingly turning another glare on herself. Damn. “What the hell are _you_ laughing at? You’re the same as me.”

“She’s cuter,” Black Star says unnecessarily, and Tsubaki shoots him a look, hoping he can pick up what she’s putting down. She doesn’t know if this girl is the fighting type, but Tsubaki really cannot fight her.

Thankfully for her, Anya seems more the scathing comment type than the scrappy type, and all she does is laugh very loudly at him. “You said you’d call me.”

He grins cheekily. “I say that to most girls.”

Tsubaki thinks she understands the look that crosses over Anya’s face. It’s hurt and confused, and she knows that this girl isn’t as bad as Tsubaki thinks she is. She just…was lead on by Black Star, it seems, and had expected something to come out of it. Tsubaki doesn’t think that she’s wrong, and clearly she doesn’t know Black Star that well. She’s seen him angry, but this was _mean._

Anya doesn’t stick around much longer—she asks him to talk privately once more, but when he says no, she leaves the diner, and by then, they only have five minutes left of lunch.

Maka and Soul are back to glaring at each other, but none of the anger from before is there. Black Star seems much more subdued than before too, so she stands, grabbing her garbage. “I’m going to head over to my next class. I’ll see you after school, Black Star?”

“Sure,” he nods, while Soul and Maka wave their good-byes. She walks away as quickly as she can without it seeming obvious, passing Anya on her way inside. The girl’s eyes are red rimmed, and Tsubaki feels sick.

* * *

 

Black Star gets the text around three, and he nearly says _no_ because Mifune asked so last minute. The grade school isn’t _that_ far from the high school, but it’s still out of his goddamn way and he also doesn’t have a bike. This, in hindsight is probably why Mifune asked him. The last time he drove Angela around on the thing, the guy had nearly had a heart attack.

He laughs at the memory, startling Tsubaki from her science homework. “What?” They’re sitting in the cafeteria today, to his utmost disgust. Only losers sit in the cafe, and even after school it’s uncool. Thank god none of his friends hung around after two-thirty.

He loves hanging around the kid, but he feels kind of bad about ditching Tsubaki. Ever since the thing that happened with Anya a few days ago, things between them have been kind of awkward, and he’d thought they’d be cool today. At least she wasn’t avoiding sitting next to him as much. He doesn’t get what’s wrong with her, with the whole thing, but he’s been assured by Soul that girls are weird like that, especially girls who are your friends.

“Gotta go,” he says, slipping off the bench and gathering his crap. “I gotta pick up someone.”

The furrow in her eyebrows smooth out nicely, and she smiles, gathering her own things. “That’s alright, then. Which way are you walking?”

“I’m going out the east doors. So your way, I guess.”

“Want to walk together?”

He accidentally stabs himself with the lead of his pencil, “Uh—well I’m kind of in a hurry.” Not that she walks slowly, but he figures if the two of them are walking together, they won’t be speed walking. And all the same, Angela hates new people. Or rather, she hates Black Star when other people are around and if he’s gotta watch the brat until Mifune gets home; he’d rather do it with himself on her good side. “So maybe another time?”

Tsubaki looks a bit crestfallen, and he wonders if he should just tell her to come with him, but the look is gone before he can open his mouth. In its place is a smile and she shrugs. “Sure. I wanted to go to the store before I got home, anyway.” It’s a lie, and Black Star really feels like shit now. Great.

He nods, watching her for a second longer. When her smile doesn’t falter, he shrugs. Girls are fuckin’ weird.

* * *

 

Angela comes ripping out of the doors, the first kid in the school yard, and it only takes seconds before she is lost in the swarm that follows her. Hopefully she got a good look around before she was run over, because if not she’ll be looking for Mifune, who will be nowhere in sight. Black Star tugs off his hood, hoping she’ll spot his hair, at least. He knows (very grudgingly) that he is not the tallest.

It only takes a few minutes before she barrels into him, fingers grasping at his pant legs. “ _Ohmigod_ he’s not here?!” Angela asks, blinking wide eyes up at him. Her cheeks are flushed from running around, and her hair is a frizzy mess. At least Mifune has gotten better at braiding it. “Does that mean pizza!?”

“Means he’s gonna be late from work and yeah, probably picking up a pizza. Come on you little gremlin, I’ve been standing here for like, fifteen minutes.”

Angela scowls at him, but reaches for his hand obediently. He grabs her tiny palm and starts to tug her down the sidewalk, just until they get out of the sea of adults and kids, and then he slows. Angela catches up easily and they begin the slow trek to her house. “How come you ain’t come and seen us lately ‘Star?”

He shrugs, pausing at a stop sign. “Dunno, ‘cuz your dad didn’t ask me to.”

“Ya don’t need to be _asked_.” Angela is a very wise kid. He knows he doesn’t need to be asked, but it’s weird going to Mifune’s house sometimes. The guy is a cop—one who _knows_ everything the club goes, because he’d almost been a part of it—and hanging around him is awkward. It’s always like there is something unspoken between them, and there is. Sometimes it’s just…too much. It’s probably why he hasn’t been by to see Sid and Nygus lately, either. Too much bad juju. And his dad would be _pissed._

Angela blathers on about her day and how she dominated at duck, duck, goose today in gym, but Black Star is only half listening, trying to remember the last time he’d been by Mifune’s. Probably not since before Christmas, when he’d given Angela that stuffed frog. Now that he’s thinking about it, it really does suck. While there is some tension and awkwardness, there is also that sense of belonging that comes with eating dinner at a kitchen table, with talking about your day and…well, shit, he doesn’t mean to get sentimental.

He’s not thinking at the next stop sign, and it’s only because of the kid by his side that he doesn’t get them run down by a truck. “Jesus,” he mutters, feeling the wind whip past his face and his ear _bleed_ at the loud honk of the truck’s horn. Angela is yelling at him too, so he looks down at her. “That should be a secret. Our secret.”

Her chest is heaving from her shrieking and there are tears in her eyes. “You’re bad!!!” She yells again, scrubbing at her eye with one hand, while the other squeezes his. _Holy shit,_ he thinks, searching around desperately to see if there are any nosy parents who would rat him out. He nearly got them killed _and_ she’s crying now. Thankfully, there is nobody around.

“Oh my god, Angela, stop,” he hisses, squatting down in front of her. It’s like she’s angry crying and if it were any other time, he’d probably laugh his _ass_ off. She’s such a ham. “I’m fine, we’re fine, everything is fine. I was just lost in thought.”

“Dad says you can’t think,” Angela mutters, pouting at him. “Can you carry me?”

Rolling his eyes, Black Star turns his back to her, allowing her to scramble onto his back. She weighs hardly anything, but she always tugs his hair. “It’s just in case ya get lost in thought again!” Angela yells when he complains after a particularly harsh tug. “ _I_ don’t wanna get hit by no cars!”

Fifteen minutes later, they are sitting in her living room, colouring pictures from her _Princess and the Frog_ colouring book. He even let her turn on the TV so she could watch the mentally scarring shows on _Teletoon._ He is a damn good babysitter, if he does say so himself. And he only has ten minutes or so left until Mifune gets off of work. He wonders if he’s getting paid—this is time out of _his_ day, after all, and Mifune is working overtime so he’s getting _paid_ overtime, so if he doesn’t get paid he will not be impressed. Or, he at least better get dinner. Good dinner, too. So long as Mifune actually brings pizza, Black Star will be happy, though he wouldn’t put it past the guy to bring tacos. Black Star fucking _hates_ tacos.

Mifune gets home while he’s colouring a picture of a cute girl with big tits, and the look he gives the two of them sitting at the coffee table is fond.

Black Star secretly thinks: _this is how a father should look at you_ , and then feels incredibly awful for it after. His dad has been a lot…well nicer is not a word that one usually associates with his father, but he’s been less shitty. In fact, it seems like he’s actually taking Black Star seriously now. It might be because Mike fucked up a run a few weeks ago, but hey he’s gonna take what he can get.

He helps Mifune set the table because he’s not a jerk and Angela runs around the kitchen on both their heels, retelling her story of the day. Black Star has already heard about Rachel Boyd pulling her hair and throwing sand at her on the playground, so he takes out his phone and scrolls through the texts he’s missed. He’d already texted his dad and told him he’d be late, not trusting Crona to pass along the message. He keeps who he’s with out of it, because while his dad doesn’t mind him hanging around Sid and Mifune, he doesn’t really _like_ it.

A message from Tsubaki is on his screen, and one from Soul, asking him for the cheats to GTA 5. He doesn’t reply to Soul, since it’s been long enough since he texted him that Soul would have been annoyed enough to either finish the level without cheats or find them himself. Tsubaki’s text is asking him if he took her calculator, which yeah, he thinks he did. _Want me to drop it off?_ He texts back, sitting down across from Angela. Mifune opens the pizza box in the middle of the table and they start to help themselves. “So how is school going?”

“Sid hasn’t told you?” He chews his pizza and leaves his phone beside his plate, just in case she texts back. “I thought he would.”

“He mentioned something about you being tutored by someone. A girl, maybe?”

“A _giiiiiirl!?”_ Angela trills, eyes widening comically across from him. Black Star narrows his eyes at her, chomping on his pizza and showing her the results. She shrieks a loud _ew_ at him, and Mifune glares.

With a sigh, Black Star leans back in his chair, glaring at the both of them. “It’s a tutor, she’s a chick. So what?”

“Is she pretty?”

Flushing, Black Star shrugs. Sure, Tsubaki’s cute. Hot, really. More like gorgeous. Tsubaki is a 10 outta 10, to be completely honest, but it’s not like Mifune needs to know this shit. He’s so weird. “Yeah, sure. Big tits.”

“You know,” Mifune quirks an eyebrow, cool as a goddamn _cucumber._ Really, if he didn’t get on Black Star’s nerves so much, Mifune would probably be his idol. “You really have _not_ changed since we last saw each other.”

Shrugging again, Black Star looks around the kitchen. He realizes he’s being rude, but old habits die hard. At least, he figures he should apologize. “Sorry. It’s just…weird, sitting down for dinner and being asked about school and stuff.”

Mifune nods, because he does understand. He was in Black Star’s position once, so he knows just how different the club is than a family—the same way the club is more of a family than your own, sometimes. The only difference between them is that Mifune got out.

Though, he supposes another difference is that Mifune _wanted_ out. Black Star loves the club, in his own way. “So uh, how was work?”

The man’s shoulders tense and even Angela sink low in her chair, kicking him. Staring in bafflement, he watches the way Mifune seems to grow older before him. He winces, because, while maybe not directly his fault, this is probably the club’s fault. “That bad?”

“Not you,” he murmurs, pushing his plate of half-eaten pizza away from him. “Arachnophobia.”

Black Star makes the same face he always does when those assholes are mentioned: it’s a look that mixes his disgust with his annoyance, and he sees the same look on Mifune’s, though his has a twinge of desperation and exhaustion. Between Arachnophobia and Hoshizoku, the police were always kept busy, but recently, Arachnophobia has been…more of an issue; or, as his dad likes to say “better at being _caught.”_

Mifune rubs a hand over his face, massaging his temples. Angela has pushed her plate away, even though it looks like she still wants more. Black Star reaches forward to push her plate back to her, taking a bite of his own food. “They’re assholes, man—”

“Language.”

“—and if you need me to, I’ll rough some guys up.”

Mifune casts him a disapproving look. “I don’t need a child fighting my battles for me. I can manage just fine—the _police_ can manage ust fine on our own. Though, I would ask that you and Soul try and stay out of club business for a while. I know Spirit is talking about cracking down on gang activity. Anyone caught with drugs, or doing something unlawful will be charged. No more of this ‘letting you off with a warning’.” He narrows his eyes at Black Star, whose hand has drifted to his pocket, where a beautifully rolled joint lies, just waiting to be smoked. “And if I see you smoking, I will shove it down your throat. You should quit that garbage.”

“Ya really should!” Angela agrees, though he doubts she knows what they’re talking about. “Dad? Can I have more juice please?”

Mifune stands, giving Black Star one more look, before asking, “So this girl? Tell me about her.”

Black Star groans. “What’s there to tell? She’s nice.”

“Wow, must be difficult for you. Hanging out with nice people? Spirit says you and Maka have been hanging around more and more lately.”

With a pointed glare, he says, “Yeah, well, she’s Maka’s friend.”

“So she’s nice, she’s pretty…anything else?”

Angela and Mifune give him matching inquisitive looks. He wonders if there _is_ anything else. Tsubaki’s sweet and smart and gorgeous, but he hasn’t really hung out with her unless they’ve been doing homework, or Soul and Maka were there. She’s his friend, he guesses, but she’s not Maka to him, or Soul. She’s just someone who hangs around sometimes. Someone who helps him with work and someone he can get along with. He wonders if maybe they should change that. He likes hanging around with her. And for the first time in a while, he doesn’t really want to sleep with her. With a glance at his phone, he sees that she’s texted back.

_If you don’t mind!!!!_

Black Star decides he’ll try something. Try and be her friend. “How about I keep you updated on that?” He asks, and if he’s not mistaken, Mifune smirks.

* * *

 

At some point during the night, they’d gone from her house to his, and now they were sitting on the couch in his living room, playing COD. “Wow, for someone who said they didn’t know how to play, you sure _know how to play.”_ He grits his teeth as she kills him again. He should have played a different level _._ Tsubaki laughs lightly beside him, bumping her shoulder against his.

“It’s actually very easy if you pay attention to the instructions.”

“What instructions?” He grouses, tongue sticking out as he finds some place to camp. He doesn’t care if it’s a shitty way to win—at least she won’t know he’s being a jackass. “I told you which button shoots.”

She doesn’t say anything, instead focusing on the screen intently. “Where _are_ you? Where is that?”

He leans back in his seat, mentally thanking his dad for investing so much money in such a comfortable couch. He also sends a mental thanks to whatever gods are looking out for him, because there isn’t anyone home, and his dad is incredibly embarrassing when girls are here. Tsubaki gets into his range of vision, and he shoots her. “HA!”

Deflating into the couch, to the point where she is leaning on him, Tsubaki sighs. “I’m no good at this game.”

“Nah, you’re pretty good. Better than Soul was his first time.”

She smiles at him, and they watch as it replays her death. He doesn’t really know how they got _here_ , because all he’d really meant to do was drop of her calculator and ask if she wanted to go for a walk. It was really nice out, so he figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Only, half way through the walk it’d started raining and they’d had to book it to the closest place—his. “So when does your father get home?” She asks, shifting so she’s not sitting against him. He kind of misses the warmth for a moment, and then berates himself for being dumb.

“Dunno, could be soon, could be later. It’s a fifty-fifty thing with him.”

Tsubaki nods absently, sinking lower on the couch. She turns toward the screen again, “Do you want to play again?”

It hits him very suddenly that she looks anxious. That she looks _nervous_ about something, and he has it on very good authority that girls only ask when your parents are gonna be home when they want to…do stuff. Is that what Tsubaki wants? Is he picking up what she’s putting down or is he totally wrong? He takes back his earlier thought for sure—he wouldn’t mind sleeping with her.

He’s about to make a move when a door slams open somewhere in the house, Ragnarok’s heavy footsteps pounding toward them. “Star! Where the fuck is your stupid fucking—oh, who the hell are you?”

The big guy stops suddenly in the door way, staring at a startled Tsubaki. He’s pretty startled too, he had no idea the idiot was home. She looks at Black Star, then back at Ragnarok. “Is this your brother?” She asks tentatively.

“No,” he says at the same time Ragnarok says, “Sure.” They glare at each other for a few moments, before he says, “I need to know why the Xbox isn’t in my bedroom.”

“Because it’s out here,” Black Star sighs, jerking his chin at the system, which shows their scores. He winces at Ragnarok’s laugh when he sees Black Star’s. “It’s not yours, by the way. My dad bought it for me.”

They have another glaring match. “Medusa says I can use it whenever I want.”

“Medusa says a lot of shit, but most of it comes out of her asshole.” A socked foot kicks him, and he scowls at Tsubaki. “It’s true!”

Ragnarok doesn’t say anything to this—just pulls the cord out of the wall and begins to unhook the Xbox from the TV, like the cocksucker he is. “Can you not? I have a fuckin’ guest over here!”

He is ignored, which annoys him even more. Tsubaki keeps kicking him, glaring at him when he attempts to rise. Her foot lands in his lap and she adds pressure. Despite the colour on her cheeks, Black Star is sure she means business. “Don’t you dare.”

Unaware of what’s happening, Ragnarok says, “I could tie you in a knot, you little monkey.”

_Like fuck,_ Black Star thinks, but values his balls way too much to do anything beyond spout a few more insults at Ragnarok as he continues on his way back to his room, grabbing the only other controller they have. His door slams shut a few seconds later, and both of them sink back into the couch. “Take your foot off my balls.”

Her leg is gone faster than he thought possible. “Sorry. I just didn’t want you to fight with him. It’s not a big deal, really. We can do something else?”

_Ah,_ he thinks, staring at her. _Right._ Will she go all the way? Or is she more of the heavy petting type? He wouldn’t mind if she were the _oral_ type, but he won’t push her. Scooting closer, he nods. “Sure. Want to go to my room?”

Looking alarmed, Tsubaki shakes her head. “I was thinking a movie? Or TV? We could always _talk_ , too!” Black Star blinks, was he wrong? He must have read the signs wrong or something. Maybe she was actually curious about when his dad would be back? Wow, foot meet mouth.

“Movie? Sure.”

* * *

 

“What do you mean?” Tsubaki asks, frowning when she messes up her toe nail. She wipes away the paint before it dries and readjusts her phone against her shoulder. “He thought I wanted to...?”

_“Sex, Tsubaki,”_ Maka says on the other line, voice tinny and small. “ _Probably. You asked when his dad would get home! In Black Star talk, that’s like asking how quick you can do your quickie.”_

“That’s sick,” Tsubaki caps her nail polish. “I never meant for him to think _that!_ I just wanted to know, because you said his dad was strict.”

Maka laughs, “ _I’m pretty sure I called him a dick.”_

Tsubaki sighs, reclining on her chair and staring out the window. The rain has let up, leaving everything glistening in the moonlight. It’s pretty. “ _Do you like him, though? Maybe you were acting flirty or something.”_

“No,” Tsubaki says immediately. She winces when Maka hums at her.  “Well, no, not really. He’s cute, but badass isn’t really my type.”

_“Same,”_ Maka says solemnly, and she can imagine her friend nodding.

They talk a bit more about how awkward everything was afterward, and how Black Star has apologized as she’d left, but even after their phone call has ended, Tsubaki can’t stop thinking about it. Was she being a flirt? She’s never been on a date with a guy—or alone with one—so she doesn’t really know proper etiquette. She thought she was being friendly, but maybe not.

_Whatever,_ she thinks, squeezing her eyes shut. Hopefully things aren’t as awkward as they had been tonight, tomorrow.

* * *

 

He thanks the gods and whoever the fuck else is out there that she didn’t take anything he did to heart. Because if he came to school the next day with her acting all awkward because of what he’d said, Black Star would probably die. How fucking embarrassing, inviting a girl to your bedroom after reading her signs wrong? He should have known Tsubaki wouldn’t ask something like that, and he has no idea why he wanted to go along with it. Tsubaki is like…like Maka to him, although maybe not as…well, special. He makes a solemn vow in his head to keep his dick away from her, because fuckin’ something like that up wouldn’t be any good.

So it’s with a clear conscience that he goes to the club meeting Friday, slipping his phone into his pants pocket as he slides into the seat beside his father. The man gives him a nod and a small smile, and he returns it easily. He watches the rest of the gang slowly trek in—Soul, Liz, Mike, his uncles. Daichi, who looks exhausted from his trip back from Hawaii the night before getting the guns from the harbour, Ragnarok, Crona, and his stupid mom. They all grumble their hellos and in his Uncle Kenji’s place, lights up a cigarette. No matter how many times Katsuya has told him that shit will kill him, the guy has insisted on smoking them.

He’s pretty sure the meeting will be short this week, since all his dad needs to discuss is who will be running the guns to Vegas this weekend, but there is tension in his dad’s shoulders that has Black Star wondering if there is something more. He knows Daichi took two prospects to Hawaii with him, but he’d only seen one today. Did the Yakuza do something? Catch them getting the guns from the harbour?

Although they’re not as old, strong, or well-known as the Yakuza, Hoshizoku is still pretty formidable, especially his Aunt’s charter in Japan. He knows there have been skirmishes between the two of them before, and there is a huge population of them in Hawaii, where they get their guns. If Daichi came into contact with one of them and lost a prospect, the club might have to expect some backlash, or prepare themselves for war. And with Arachnophobia waiting in the wings…it’s not a good idea to get on the Yakuza’s bad side, is all.

Soul settles down heavily in the chair beside him, sporting a huge bruise on his neck that Black Star hadn’t seen earlier today at school. “Busy?” he mouths, smirking when the other boy flushes and scowls. Liz lets out a loud snort beside Soul, covering her mouth when people look at her. “Sorry.”

White Star shakes his head, beginning, “Dark Star, your report from Hawaii?”

Dark Star-Daichi—clears his throat, clasping his hands in front of him and squeezing them together, knuckles white. “Everything seemed fine, like usual. Rika and Chika were there with the order, which leads me to wonder if Minako suspected something might happen. Everything went well there—by the way, Yellow Star, your sister says, um, hello—“

Uncle Kenji laughs loudly at this, muttering _bitch_ under his breath. Black Star doesn’t really know what the relationship between he and his sister, but he figures it’s one a lot similar to his and Maka’s.

“—and so Rika and Chika made sure everything went well at the docks. When we were leaving, though, I noticed a black van following us. We tried to lose them, but, well. The Yakuza know the island better than us, and they’ve got sway with some of the other gangs there. By the time I realized we were being ambushed, Allen was already dead. Shot through the head.”

That, Black Star realizes with a sick feeling, is why he didn’t see the other prospect. It’s not uncommon for prospects to die, but it sucks nonetheless.

His father exhales through his nose, leaning forward and resting his forehead against his clasped hands. “How did you and Donahue get out alive?”

Daichi laughs, but it’s humorless. “I killed quite a few and if you don’t mind me saying, Donahue deserves a patch for all the killing he did. I probably wouldn’t be here if not for him.”

Patches are what all members have on the back of their leather jackets. Maka had once wrongly assumed that the Hoshizoku on the back of his and Soul’s jackets were their patches, but if that were the case, her father would still be part of the club. No, their patches are the stars stitched over their hearts. Each member of the core group has one, but there are some who don’t have Star names, like Soul, Liz, Crona, and Ragnarok. Only family gets one of those.

“I’ll take it into consideration,” White Star says after a pause. “The guns are at the warehouse?”

“Yes,” Dark Star nods firmly. “I made sure they got there myself.”

“Good of you,” Uncle Jon says, clapping him on the shoulder. Most of the club voices their agreement, but Black Star notices the way Mike’s face hardens at his father’s compliment. “Now, who’s running this shit to Vegas?”

White Star shrugs, rubbing his scarred knuckles. “Are there any takers? You’ll be compensated for it, of course.”

Liz immediately raises her hand, while Mike and Kenji do the same. Black Star almost considers doing the same thing, but his dad had told him earlier that he had something else planned for him. It left him feeling giddy, like a kid on Christmas, and he hopes it’s not something shitty. He would hate to pass up a trip to Vegas.

“Alright, the three of you. I want you gone by tonight.” His father says. They all nod their agreement, and Liz looks relieved. He knows that times are tough over at the Thompson house, so he figures all the extra money they can scrounge up, the better. He suspects his dad knows this, too. “Black Star, Soul, Crona. I want the three of you to do something for me, too.”

Soul looks up at the sound of his voice, Crona makes a small, distressed sound, and Black Star straightens in his seat. “Yes, sir?”

White Star smirks, “I heard from a little bird that Arachnophobia will be dealing near our borders tonight. Care to take a ride out there and see what mayhem you can cause? Of course, I’ll need you not to get caught.”

Black Star knows taking a second to think on it is not the best idea but—Crona. How the fuck will they get anything done with _Crona?_ Thankfully, Soul speaks for him, “We’d love too, right guys?”

Crona nods jerkily, watery eyes staring up at Medusa. “O-of course. Thank you.”

Watching the boy for a moment longer, Black Star shrugs. “Sure, I’ve been looking to break some jaws.”

“Splendid,” Medusa coos from behind his father.

* * *

 

Black Star’s leg shakes up and down, up and down, up and down, as he waits for Crona to come out of his room. He thought he heard crying, earlier, and while he kind of feels bad, he also _doesn’t._ The kid, if he’s scared, should not be in a fucking gang. And he really doesn’t want to drag him along to this thing, because he’s never seen the kid fight and if he fucks off on them, Black Star won’t hesitate to beat his ass into the ground. He’s not looking to get fucked up tonight—he’s looking to fuck shit up.

Crona emerges from his room, Ragnarok following with a huge leer on his face. “Take care of my kid brother, won’t ya?” He asks, though he doesn’t sound worried.

Standing, Black Star nods. “Yeah, sure, let’s get a fuckin’ move on it; Soul’s already waiting for us by the 7-11.”

Ragnarok grins as he sends them off; leaving Black Star to wonder if maybe he hopes Crona gets his ass kicked. Probably; the guy does it regularly himself.

Despite the fact that he’s generally useless, Crona can ride well. He keeps up with Black Star and doesn’t look like he’s afraid of everything when he’s on his bike, and Black Star knows the feeling. Riding is a lot like flying, he suspects. It’s a rush of adrenaline and if Black Star could only do one thing for the rest of his life, it’d probably be this.

They meet Soul in record time. He looks anxious and annoyed. “If you need to take a shit before you do it in your shorts, I’m sure they have a bathroom.” Black Star jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the 7-11. Soul looks even more annoyed than before. “No? Alright then, ladies. Let’s skedaddle.”  

* * *

 

It’s Mosquito, Free, and a very large masked guy, which is problematic for three reason, two of which go like this: Soul, Black Star, and Crona are, for a lack of better words (when compared to these three) are scrawny. Soul has enough muscle on his arms to be bigger than Maka (which isn’t a great feat—the girl is strong as fuck) and Black Star is strong for someone his size, while Crona looks like he couldn’t lift ten pounds. Against someone like Giriko, they might be okay. Against these assholes, their chance is very slim.

“I’ll take the big guy—the masked one,” he mutters, squatting in the bushes. He curses Arachnophobia and their constant need to deal in obscure, forested places. Soul scowls beside him, toying with a knife. Its blade is curved slightly—it’d been a gift from Black Star’s dad when he’d graduated from prospect, while Black Star had gotten a katana. Crona only has a little switch blade. “Actually—I’ll go for Mosquito. He’s more experienced. Crona, do what you can, Soul, you try and keep him from getting his ass too badly kicked. Put on your hoods, too. Just in case things go sour. We don’t really want them knowing who we are.”

Soul looks like he might argue, but nods after a moment of hesitation. Crona looks like he might be sick, and Black Star feels for him, he really does. This is his first time doing something like this, and he knows it’s not easy for first-timers. “On my count, we spread out and go in.”

Another round of nods and Black Star counts down. _“Go,”_ he hisses, watching them both run in the opposite directions. Soul’s got his hood up, so he disappears quickly, but Black Star watches Crona go several feet before flicking his own hood on.

He waits a minute, two, and then darts out from the underbrush, toward the three men waiting. Their buyer won’t show up—his dad’s made sure of that.

Mosquito is the first to notice him, and he sounds the alarm, letting out a loud shout. By then, Black Star’s already tackled him into the dirt, while Soul rams into Free from behind, and Crona comes out swinging with his knife from masked guys left.

As much as he wants to, Black Star can’t focus on their fights when he’s up against a guy like Mosquito. He seems to grow several inches, already back on his feet and looming over Black Star. He hit him before he can gather his bearings, hard enough that he finds himself on the ground. Again. He thinks he might hear his phone crack—or maybe he feels it—against his thigh, but he’s more worried about Mosquito’s foot.

The man kicks him with more force than Black Star had thought possible, and he scrabbles for his knife, struggling to breathe. Fuck, his dad has sent them to their death. Sometime during the fight (if he can call it that) his hood had been knocked off. In his peripheral, he sees that both Soul and Crona are faring the same as him.

He manages to get a good enough grip on his knife to reach up, stabbing Mosquito in the thigh as he kicks him in the throat.

Obviously, the knife in the thigh trick did nothing.

He attempts to get to his knees, but Mosquito—no, this is Free—fists his hand in Black Star’s hair, tugging it up so he’s blinking into the brightness of a flashlight. It sears his eyes and he blinks, trying to see beyond it. He must look a mess, but he’s sure they can tell who he is. Who sent him.

Tears spring to his eyes as he stares, but he can’t help it. “Sorry, wrong guys,” he tries to laugh, but it’s garbled, like most of his words. He doesn’t try to speak again—his tongue feels too big for his mouth. He must have bitten it.

Mosquito seems to have understood what he meant, though. He frowns down at him, using a handkerchief to clean off his knuckles. “You tell that father of yours, that the next time he decides to play games, we _will_ play back. And you won’t be going home with a few cracked ribs.”

“Sure thing,” Black Star spits, grinning when he sees it land on the shining leather top of Mosquito’s loafers. “Motherfucker."

He sees the hand second before he feels it, and then—

Black Star must black out for a second, because the next thing he knows he’s laying with his face in watery vomit, and the three assholes they weren’t sent to fuck up are gone. The fight was over embarrassingly fast, and he knows he’ll never hear the end of this.

Crona is whimpering a few feet away; Soul is holding his arm, face half-buried against the dirt. He looks like he’s in a fuckton of pain. Black Star can’t see Crona from where he’s lying, but from the gross crying noises he’s making, Black Star’s sure he got the shit beat out of him, too.

He lies there for what feels like forever, just trying to catch his breath. His side hurts like hell and a couple of his fingers might be broken. He knows that he should call someone in the club to come pick them up, but he knows his dad will be there and he can only imagine what will happen. Just because they were bigger isn’t an excuse, Black Star knows. He’s been trained to fight guys bigger than him, to use his smaller stature as an advantage rather than a hindrance, but Mosquito, Free, they have _years_ of experience on them, on him, and they proved it. He _tried_ , at least, but he knows his dad won’t see it that way. And without Uncle Kenji there, Black Star won’t have a chance trying to argue his point.

So anyone from the club is out, right now. He thinks briefly about calling Sid or Mifune, but knows both of them would insist they go to the hospital, and Mifune would want them to press charges or _charge them_ and he can’t deal with all that bullshit right now.

He’s pretty sure that he can call Wes. Soul might be pissed at him, but the guy would probably help them without telling his parents. Or he could just call a cab and they could fuck off somewhere for a while—Maka’s, maybe, or—

With his good hand, Black Star digs into his pocket, hoping his phone isn’t too broken. The screen is cracked, but thankfully the phone still works. The brightness of it blinds him momentarily, but soon enough he’s in his phone book, swiping his thumb across Tsubaki’s name.

* * *

 

She takes her sweet ass time getting there. Or maybe it just feels like an eternity. Crona has stopped whimpering and has graduated to letting out little huffs that might be sobs, and Soul has taken to speaking in another fucking language that might be Italian, or might be French. Whatever the case, Black Star is pretty sure he’s been cursing his name for the last half hour.

He hears her before he sees her—actually, it sounds like Maka’s clumpy ass boots stomping into the clearing. They emerge from the brush a few seconds later, both girls looking panicked and scared. When they spot them, Maka’s hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my God,” he hears her breathe, but Tsubaki is a statue, standing tall and rigid beside her.

And then it’s like all the strings snap and she runs forward, the beam of her flashlight illuminating everything as she runs. Maka takes a moment longer before she follows suit, immediately going to Soul and Crona, muttering unintelligible things under her breath.

Tsubaki drops to her knees at his side, a determined look on her face. “What happened?” She asks, and he has a sneaking suspicion she means injury-wise.

“Boot to the abdomen, mostly. I think it might have been steel toed.” He grins at her, tasting blood in his mouth from the multiple times he’d bitten his lip and tongue. “I’m fine. Check on Crona, Tsubaki.”

Dark eyes narrow at him, but she nods. While she checks on Crona, Black Star struggle into a sitting position. The clearing is dark, but he can see dark spots on the grass and dirt where he’d stabbed Mosquito, and at least he did _something._ “How’s Soul?” He asks, pushing to his feet, gritting his teeth. Maybe he has a cracked rib or four. Soul is leaning heavily against Tsubaki, who had apparently gone to help him instead of Crona, while Maka helps a dazed-looking Crona to his feet. They all look rather pathetic, and it must not inspire great confidence in the club. Tsubaki must think they’re a bunch of pussies, especially him. At least Maka knows what they’re capable of.

With a sigh, he starts limping toward the direction they’d come from, turning back only once to make sure everyone was still upright. Tsubaki gives him a few directions, and soon enough they’re standing in front of her car, which looks a lot better than their tipped over bikes. At least they weren’t trashed. “Y’gonna call sumone ta pick ‘em up?” Soul asks quietly beside him, looking really fuckin’ awful. They’ll have to pull a real good story out of their asses to tell his parents.

Black Star shakes his head, starting toward the car. “Nah…not yet, at least.”

“Where do you want me to take you?” Tsubaki asks, helping Soul to the backseat, while Maka helps Crona on the other side. Black Star slips into the passenger seat, frowning when he smears blood on the window. Shit. He scrubs at it with the sleeve of his jacket, but all it does is make it look worse.

He answers her when she gets in beside him, “Maybe a bridge, so I can jump off it.”

Her brows furrow and she raises her hand to hit him. Thinking better of it, she instead turns the car on. “How about my house? Or Maka’s?”

“Not mine,” Maka murmurs from the back. In the rear view mirror, Black Star sees that both Soul and Crona have their heads on her shoulders. “Papa won’t be happy if he sees them, and he’ll probably call someone.”

Tsubaki nods, backing slowly onto the main road. “Alright, mine then.”

* * *

 

Black Star is once again amazed at how nice Tsubaki’s house is. He is, also, once again sitting on the edge of her bathtub while she flutters around his shirtless self, looking way too panicked for his liking. What happened to the calm and collected chick from the clearing?

Obviously, it’s his abs. Black Star has worked very hard on them, and they are beautiful. “So uh…you have a brother, right? He’s not gonna show up and skin me alive, is he?”

Tsubaki pauses momentarily, eyes shifting to something beyond him. “Let’s not rule anything out,” she says eventually, leaving the bathroom and coming back with a rag. She wets it in the sink, looks at him, then back at the sink. “Your whole chest is like one big bruise. I think we should have taken you to the hospital, I mean you’re—it looks really bad—“

“It’s fine,” he nods jerkily, holding his hand out for the rag. Tsubaki hands it to him slowly, looking hella worried. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.” It sounds like déjà vu, and he recalls saying the same thing to Angela, days before.

Tsubaki’s fingers drum anxiously on the porcelain of the sink. Is she going to say something? Maybe he should tell her to go and help Crona or Soul. He’s seen Maka try and help someone while they’re hurt and she usually does more bad than good.

At the same time, they both say, “You should—“

“Give me the cloth,” Tsubaki says firmly, holding her hand out for it again. Black Star looks down at it in his hand; water is dripping down his arm, and he can’t clean himself with his fingers fucked up like this. He’s long since realized they’re not broken, but they must be sprained. “I’ll help you clean up.”

That’s kind of hot, Black Star thinks, handing the cloth over with minimal bitching. But she doesn’t wipe his bloody face clean sexily, but rather with quick and efficient swipes. It almost hurts. “Aren’t nurses supposed to have a soft touch?”

Tsubaki looks sheepish, and she lets up on the pressure. “Sorry. I should really work on that, especially if you’re going to keep ending up in my bathroom.” Her cheeks are dusted with pink, and he thinks he’s lost a lot of blood or maybe Mosquito knocked something loose in his head because he wants to kiss the fuck out of her for being cheeky at a time like this. Bless her.

“Sorry about this. And last time,” he says eventually, looking away from her. She’s finished wiping his face clean, and she hands him a fresh shirt that must be her brother’s. The corner of her mouth quirks up a bit; not quite a smile, but not a frown either.

“I don’t mind,” she shrugs, turning away from him. “But my brother will be home soon—what is that?”

He hears it too, now, and he also hears Maka asking the same thing in the other room. It sounds like someone pounding on the door.

Black Star is on his feet and running from the bathroom before he fully realizes what he’s doing. The persistent ache in his side goes from a five to a ten in seconds, but it’s nothing compared to what’s coming. “Shit, shit, fuck!” He mutters, sliding to a stop in front of the door. Through the stained glass he catches grey, and he stumbles back from the door. Does he hide? He could always hide and Tsubaki could say she hasn’t seen him but how the hell did he get the address? Black Star was watching and they weren’t tailed, so the only way was—“ _Crona.”_

He must have heard Black Star’s hiss of his name, because he cowers behind Maka when he slides back around the corner and into the living room. Tsubaki, who had been following, stops half-way, staring at the door. “Do I open it…?”

“ _No!”_ Black Star snaps at the same time Crona squeaks out a “Yes!”

“Shut up! What the fuck did you call him for!?”

“M-mother told me to text when everything was finished! I didn’t want her to worry!”

Black Star snorts at the thought of Medusa giving a shit about anyone but herself, but at the same time he feels kind of bad for the guy. He knows what it’s like to want someone to give a shit about you. Still, he made a bad fuckin’ call texting someone and now—

There is more pounding on the door, only this time it sounds like his dad is kicking it. Tsubaki gives him a look, like she’s sorry, before starting toward the door. “I’m sorry, but…my door,” she says, as if she’s justifying herself. That’s just as well, he’s fucked either way. His dad knows he’s here.

She pulls open the door, but his father isn’t standing there. Instead, he’s on the edge of the porch, growling threatening things at someone. Black Star creeps up beside her, peaking around her shoulder. He doesn’t give a fuck if that’s pussy shit, because his dad is terrifying.

White Star is arguing with a taller, male version of Tsubaki, who is also, apparently, a cop.

The breath leaves him very suddenly, and his head swims. Her brother is a cop? _Her brother is a cop._ She knows, most likely, that Black Star and his family do not do the most savory things and he has been here getting his ass patched up twice already. How could she _not tell him?_

Tsubaki looks at him, mouth open, but Black Star beats her to it. “A cop?”

Boy-Tsubaki’s head jerks up at the sound of his voice, dark eyes landing on Black Star. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” He barks, already shoving past his dad and starting toward Black Star. White Star turns as well, eyes ablaze, and Black Star knows that he is Fucked.

“Definitely not what you think I am,” Black Star laughs weakly, backing away from the advancing cop. Tsubaki catches his arm in a tight grip, her voice reprimanding, telling her brother to stop, which thankfully works. Boy-Tsubaki pauses, entire body rigid as he glares.

Unfortunately for him, Tsubaki’s plea for his father to stop too falls on deaf ears. White Star stalks into the house, shoving past her and her brother. Black Star doesn’t even get a chance to back away before he’s got a hand wrapped tight around his bicep, pulling him so they’re face to face. “Lost a fight so you run like a pussy bitch to your little girlfriend’s?” White Star sneers, breath smelling like whiskey and pot. “You think you got your ass beat tonight? I’ll show you what it really means to get your ass fucking kicked—“

“Get out of my house,” Boy-Tsubaki says quietly, sternly. During some point in the last five minutes, Maka, Soul, and Crona have appeared around the corner, watching silently. White Star doesn’t even look at them, and Black Star wonders about fairness. This is not his fault. None of this is his fault, and yet…

“My pleasure,” White Star growls. He jerks Black Star around and shoves him toward the door. He stumbles, but keeps his footing. “Eater, Crona, let’s go.”

Black Star doesn’t meet Tsubaki’s eyes as he leaves, but he can see her face in his peripheral. She looks like she might be sick.

“And stay the hell away from Tsubaki, you little hood rat,” Boy-Tsubaki says as they all pile out of the house. Black Star turns, ready to tell him where he can shove his demands, when his father laughs.

“You can fucking bet he will,” White Star snarls, and the last thing he sees before Boy-Tsubaki closes the door is her stricken face.

* * *

 

It’s only after they’ve dropped off Soul that Black Star realizes he’s about to get fucked up, and not in the good way. In the front of the truck, his dad’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel, and he can feel the anger radiating off his dad in waves. Black Star supposes he’ll deserve what he’s going to get; it’s a well known fact that White Star hates people who run away, and that might as well have been what they did. He called _girls_ to come and get them, hid out in one of their houses like a little pussy. He was in charge of this gig, and he’d let it get all screwed up. Failure is not an option in the club, especially not against Arachnophobia.

So when they get home, ripping into the driveway fast enough that he feels sick, his dad lets Crona out of the truck without a word, but he grabs Black Star by his arm and pulls him bodily out, dragging him toward the door. Crona is ahead, stumbling up the walk, and White Star passes him easily, shoving Black Star through the door.

“I gave you one job,” he says, eerily calm, voice belying his stance. Dark eyes glare at him, muscles tensing, hands fisted at his side. “You had _one goddamn job_ and it was to teach them a lesson, and you what? You got your ass handed to you? I taught you to be better than that, I taught you--”

“I was up against Mosquito, and Free! And there was some huge fuckin’ guy in a mask--we couldn’t have taken them on if we’d had _guns!”_ Black Star tries to reason, holding a hand against the side that Mosquito had kicked. They really ache right now, and he regrets not taking the painkillers Tsubaki had offered him.

White Star’s gaze falls to his side, narrowing. “And you go to a cop’s house? Did you want to get arrested?”

“I didn’t know her brother was a cop,” Black Star sighs, stepping back slightly when his dad advances. He notices that Medusa and Ragnarok are both in the living room now, watching with thinly veiled amusement. Assholes. “If I’d known that I wouldn’t have--”

“What? Had sex with her? I’m sure that her brother being a police officer is hardly something that would stop you.”

“I didn’t have sex with her,” Black Star argues. Something uncomfortable settles in his stomach at the thought of thinking about Tsubaki like that. She’s...she’s worth more than the girls he’s slept with, bar none. And the idea of his dad thinking she’s just another whore, it makes him angry. “It’s not like that between us. We’re just friends.”

“And I suppose Eater and Albarn’s girl are just friends too,” White Star says absently. Black Star almost laughs at that, but holds it back. He doesn’t need to do something to antagonize him further. “And don’t worry, it won’t be like that between you. I was serious when I said you weren’t going to go near her again.”

Narrowing his eyes, Black Star asks, “What?”

White Star is smirking now, slipping off his jacket and tossing it onto the back of the chair. He looks far too smug, and on his left, Medusa laughs. “I don’t want you near her again. I see it, and I’ll break your hand. And then the other one, and maybe a leg after that. I’m not joking.”

_He wouldn’t,_ Black Star thinks desperately, phone burning against his hip. _He wouldn’t do this. He’s not like that._ He wants to ask him to change his mind, so stop. He wants to tell his dad that everything is alright, that the fact that her brother is a cop won’t effect anything.

But Black Star has learned that holding your tongue when White Star is angry is the best course of action, and so all he does is nod and turn away, shoving past Ragnarok and down the hall, into the bathroom.

Inside, he pulls his phone from his pocket, hands shaking. He takes a moment to slow his breathing, and instead of texting her, he pulls back the shower curtain and turns on the shower. Hopefully it covers the sound of his voice.

It only takes a second for her to pick up, and when she does her voice is strained and quiet. “ _I can’t talk to you.”_

“I just wanted to make sure that your brother didn’t get to angry,” he says, clearing his voice when it cracks. God, he’s such a girl. “And that...that we’re cool.”

_“I have to go, Black Star.”_

He bites his lip hard enough that it starts to bleed again. Black Star doesn’t even get a chance to say anything else before he hears the dial tone in his ear. Fuck.

Looking down at his phone, he tosses it to the ground, not even caring if it breaks. If she wants to believe whatever bullshit story that her brother tells her, then she can go right ahead. He doesn’t fucking care.

Black Star strips down the nothing and gets into the shower, enjoying the way the scalding hot water feels against his bruised abdomen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any questions/you want headcanons/or just wanna hear about the fic, I usually dick around at monkkeyslut on tumblr, so hit me up and we can cry about gang au together

**Author's Note:**

> There are probably a few terms in here that weren't common knowledge, so here:
> 
> Hoshizoku-- Japanese for Star Clan  
> Old Lady/Queen-- wife or steady girlfriend of a club member. There is usually one Queen; the main old lady, who is the old lady of the King/President (Medusa and White Star)  
> Star Eater-- A female who hangs around or sleeps with a member.  
> Prospect-- Someone hopeful for club membership, who rides with the club during a probationary period. A unanimous club vote must be cast by the members for full initiation.
> 
> If there are any more questions/you want headcanons/or just wanna hear about the fic, I usually dick around at monkkeyslut.tumblr.com so hit me up!


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